Aftermath
by TheMidnightAssassin
Summary: Gray Mann has finally won. After spending several months gathering the scattered and defeated Mann Co fighters, he has them in a prime position to kill them, save one problem: respawn. To buy himself time to unravel the complex device, Gray destroys the mercs' memories, gives them new personalities and scatters them across the globe with brand new lives until he can finish the job.
1. Prologue

**Wooh, sorry it took me a few days to post this, but this is the paradox story of Anarchy. Anyway, it's time for action, adventure, and confusion for our wonderful characters! Hope you enjoy...**

**NOTE: I am SO sorry! I posted the wrong prologue for this and didn't notice for like a week! This is the _REAL _ Aftermath prologue. Again so sorry, that first version was for Anarchy which you can read from my profile if you'd like...Dang...sorry, so sorry readers...so sorry**

* * *

Engineer stooped within a wire ridden ventilation shaft at Gray Gravel Headquarters. He watched as a long, thin mechanical arm unwrapped itself from its folded position and hovered next to its master.

"What do you think we should do for this one mnh?" The master said, "A new name, new family, a new face, a new personality... Yes, yes. That will work best, take out that pesky craftiness and replace it with, oh, let's say...bumbling ignorance."

Engineer forced his eyes shut as the massive needle on the end of the arm moved in on his teammate. If it hadn't been for the man sitting bound and gagged in the chair before him, he'd probably be dead, and this time, he couldn't watch what he knew would happen next.

* * *

The former spy never even felt the four inch needle drive into his skull or the thin metal tentacles that it injected latch to segments of his brain. Through their invisible presence, the robotics went to work. Slowly, bits of Spy's memory fell away like chunks of a melting glacier. The woman he loved disappeared. His own mother and father became strangers. The years of training and skill he'd acquired were lost in seconds. People, places, names, experiences; all broke off and faded into oblivion. Even his own name was forgotten. Soon enough, he was nothing but an empty shell of a man who knew only the gray suited figure standing before him.

"Hello Andy," the gray man said, "I'm glad to see you're alright after your accident... Can you speak?"

Speak? Andy furrowed his brow, could he speak? Words seemed jumbled in his head; shifting character and composition so often he was surprised he could even think, let alone speak.

"Yeash," he finally replied.

The gray man smiled, "Very good. You must be very confused, concussions will, of course, do that to people. Other side affects you may be experiencing are headaches, disorientation, and memory loss. But don't let those scare you, all those will fade within a couple of days."

"Areh yeuh ayh dohckteur?"

The gray man gently clasped his hands, "Why yes, I am. You may call me Dr. Mann. Now, to help you repair any memories that might have been damaged, my assistant Deloris is going to give you a special therapeutic treatment."

Andy smiled lazily as the robot Deloris pulled up level with his face. He didn't know what therapeutic was, but the word did sound awful nice, especially coming from the honeyed voice of Dr. Mann.

"Just look right at me sir," Deloris said, "This won't hurt you at all, I promise."

Gazing into the robot's blue eyes, memories came slowly back to Andy. A small farm on the Kentucky plains, his mother and father long since lost to a twister, the hours spent mowing fields with a tractor on his family's farm, all these memories and more came flooding in to fill his vacant mind. Andy smiled blissfully, he'd had a pretty good life, and was eager to get back to his home.

* * *

Engineer watched as the last of his teammates was lead from the room by the former Mr. Bidwell.

The signature scowl returned to Gray Mann's face, "You're certain Mr. Conagher is dead?"

A mecha engineer flickered to life from the shadows, "We are certain. Would you like to see the footage again?"

Gray waved off the offer, "No, no. I simply needed...confirmation. Have we come any closer to unraveling the respawn enigma?"

The mecha engineer clicked several times, "No."

"Damned Conaghers. That family has been the bane of my existence for too long… Tell me, how is it their technology is always one step ahead of mine?"

"...multiple minds collaborating on a task tend to be more effective than one."

Gray Mann massaged his forehead, "Yes, I suppose so... Leave me."

Quickly, the various robots in the room left their master standing alone in a dim florescent light.

"I know you're still here Dell. No man of respawn dies so easily," Gray said, gently pushing the metallic arm and needle back into its holster, "Understand this; when I find you, I will make you wish you could die."

As quietly as he could, Engineer shimmied back through the ventilation shaft and ran.

* * *

**Ok, I'm super excited about this story and really hope that it goes over well. Also, I'd really like to hear from all of you in reviews and PM because idk, I like the public input :3**


	2. Ch 1: An Old Friend

There is nothing forgiving about the Siberian tundra. I, of course, had to learn that the hard way. When we'd first started off on this expedition, I thought it would be fun. I mean, getting to do camera work for a Canadian documentary on Siberia, what's not to love? The adventure, the wonder, the unknown embedded in the white washed woods drove me to this project.

I bury my face deeper into my scarf to avoid the icy wind.

"Hey, cameraman!"

I peek my eyes over the edge of my scarf to see the crew I'm filming for far ahead of me.

"C'mon, you're gonna get left behind walkin' like that."

I grumble and shuffle forward just a little faster. Of course I got a team from Alaska and northern Canada. They're probably wishing for shorts and t-shirts while I can't keep my wonderful LA penthouse off my mind.

By the time I catch up to my team, they've already begun to dig out sections for our tents.

"Don't worry valley boy," our quartermaster says, "we'll be home tomorrow. We're going to get set up here for the night. In the meantime, why don't you go find a nice spot for 'the hole'?"

I turn my back on the burly man and walk into the woods. I squint up into the white sky. I remember reading books that describe snowy white landscapes as 'peaceful'. While there is a rather unsettling quiet that sets upon the snow covered scene, there is no true peace. Between the winds, animals and starkness of it all, every moment is essentially spent fighting for survival. I suppose that if one is simply _imagining_ a winter land, the experience would be radically different. Those sitting by a warm fire in their mansions sipping fresh coffee would believe, as I did, that with winter there comes a kind of peace. They mistook vacancy for peace.

As I make my trek around the camp, I notice a patch of color amongst the unbroken whiteness. I jog quickly over to the patch to find a red rubber glove nestled amidst the rapidly falling snow. Making use of a rubber band is a small note written on white cloth strapped to the glove. I tug the note from its band and squint slightly to read the faded Russian written in blue ink at the note's top;

_His name is Archimedes, please take care of him,_

_-Medic_

Beneath, in a darker black ink;

_Dear Medic,_

_I couldn't take care of Archimedes, please take him back._

_I'm sorry,_

_-VR_

I pocket the note and retrieve the glove from the snow. Stuffed inside is a small white dove nestled in a red scarf. I fish the bird from its glove and gently sandwich it between my jacket and body.

"Hello Archimedes," I say.

Faintly, the dove coos in reply.

"Good, you're still alive."

I choose a random section of the woods for 'the hole' and head back to camp.

"God Ted, you're back fast."

I nod to our crew director and tread over to where my tent mate is just finishing staking down our tent.

"Hey Ted," my designated tent mate; Grant calls, "I'm gonna go setup inside. There's a pot a beans going on the tripod, help yourself when you're ready."

"Thanks," I mumble as I shuffle towards our gas cooking stove. Huddled by the meager fire, I pull Archimedes from my coat and cradle him in the crook of my arm.

"Don't worry," I whisper, "I won't abandon you. I'll take you home with me and I'll build you a nice little bird house and feed you premium birdseed."

Archimedes coos feebly. I have no idea how long he's been in the show or how long he'd been abandoned or even what a dove was doing in the middle of Siberia, but I couldn't help feeling an overwhelming relief at his life. Sure his feathers were matted and beak a bit scratched, but, there was something about the intelligence and light in his beady black eyes that was oddly entrancing and even human like about the bird.

"Good," I finally say, holding a few beans in my hand for the dove, "And maybe, we can do something about that peculiar name of yours."

Archimedes takes a break from his beans and pecks the callused edge of my hand.

"Fine," I say, rubbing the forming bruise with my thumb, "You can keep the name, but you need a bath, you smell like iron."

* * *

**I'm not going to tell you what team member this is, I'll let you figure it all out. Also, I apologize for writing in first person present in this piece. I wrote this chapter before the prologue and it was supposed to just follow this character. However, the plot advanced, became more complicated and moved on to encompass the whole team instead of one member. Anyway, I was too lazy to change this to my regular writing style (also it felt awkward) so, I'll be going back to third person past in the remaining chapters. Yup...writing's an adventure OvO**


	3. Back in the States

Andy jumped from the cabin of his bright red combine and stood back to admire his work. All three of his wheat fields had been neatly plowed and clumped into bales.

"Ya done did good girl," he said, patting the side of the machine.

"Andy! Andy honey, Andeeey!"

The man in question glanced back over his shoulder to find his wife hobbling towards him.

Andy ran up to aid the panting woman, "Martha, what're ya doin out here? Shouldn'tcha be back in tha house?"

"Well, yeah, but Ah need ya ta help open this jar a pickles."

"That's whatcha came out here for?"

Martha supported herself on her husband's shoulder, "Honey, lemme tell ya, baby _really_ wants them pickles. Ah was gonna take em and dip em in honey."

"Nawh, how's the little guy doin?"

Martha smiled, "It could be a little _gal_, but baby's doin great. Ah'm supposed ta be due next week, ain't that excitin?"

"When'd ya find out?"

"Today. Ah had doc drop by the house for a checkup an he said it ain't too much longer till Ah pop."

"Ain't that swell? What'll this one be, the third or fourth one you've had?"

"Fifth actually. Oh, Ah'm so excited!"

Andy helped Martha up the rickety stairs of their farm house, "Me too dear. Say, how many more're ya plannin on?"

"Till God tells me Ah need ta stop."

"Heh, alrighty then. In the meantime, Ah'll make sure the doc can come by every day an check on ya."

Martha flopped down in the rocker on the front porch, "Awh, ain't you just the sweetest thing?"

"Anythin for my pumpkin."

* * *

Ted glared at the pristine white door of his mansion. White, why did he have to choose white? Perhaps it was the weeks spent in the tundra, but white was the last color he wanted to see. With a groan, he unlocked the door and slumped into the white entry hall.

"You know what we need?" He said to the caged Archimedes, "Some color, that's what. Why did I ever think this palette was a good idea? It's too... sterile, bland, drab, you name it."

Archimedes cooed.

"Exactly. White, silver and steel, what was I thinking? Now here," he said, spreading a red table cloth across the floor, "doesn't that look better?"

Archimedes nibbled the bars of his cage.

"Oh, yes...I suppose I should unpack first, maybe brew some tea, review that pilot footage for The Top Floor. Decorating can wait. Or perhaps I should get Jennie to do it, yes. She did a nice job with the white, you know, when it was still a _good_ idea."

Archimedes cooed several times and pecked the lock of the cage.

"What? Yes, oh! I suppose I should..." Ted cast a suspicious glance at the bird, "Can I trust you?"

The dove blinked and cocked his head.

"Well, how could I resist when you give me looks like that? Be free little friend!"

Archimedes flew up to the high ceiling, arched midair and bolted right back to land on Ted's shoulder.

"I give you all the freedom in the world and you end up back here."

Archimedes bobbed his head back and forth.

"Fine, fine, do what you like."

"Anderson!"

Ted whipped around to find his casting agent striding through the unlocked front door.

"Hehey I've been waiting all day for you to come home! See, the contract with that Warner guy, uh, Maxim I think he goes by, yeah well, the whole thing fell through. We're gonna have to get a whole _new_ guy to play Robbie. Figure that! And to make matters worse-"

"Phil, shut up. I've been in the States for less than an hour and I just want to relax."

Phil shook his head, "No can do Anderson. This ain't no b-production. We've got to put everything we've got into this. It's gonna be a summer blockbuster Ted, I just know it, but it won't work unless we give it the effort it _deserves_."

Ted sneered, "Deserves? Phil, this movie isn't just predictable, it's_ formulaic_. I only took this because I was offered more than I should have been to direct it."

Phil threw up his arms, "Fine,_ fine_. Have it your way. I just don't want _my_ career to fail because _you're_ feeling lazy."

Ted held his anger until Phil had stormed from the house.

"God!" He yelled, startling Archimedes, "Why does everyone in this damn city have to be so selfish!"

In one fell swoop, he swept everything from his pens to his laptop off the clean glass desk in his office.

"You know what I thought when I first started off in this industry? I thought I would have a chance to provide the public with good, _quality_ entertainment, but no-"

He flipped the desk so its glass top shattered against the floor.

"Everyone's only interested in themselves, in statistics, in giving the audience the same damn thing under a different title! Every! Single! Movie!"

Before Ted could further destroy his home, Archimedes fluttered back to his neck and pressed his body up under Ted's chin.

Still breathing heavily, Ted's shoulders relaxed. Everything had got to him. Everything he hated about his job, his life, his friends, all fell upon him like a cartoon anvil.

"I'm sorry," he said to Archimedes, "I, just...there's not as much, pizazz in this as there was when I first started out. The whole atmosphere of this city of lies simply takes the fun out of directing."

Archimedes cooed and lighted on the remains of the desk.

"What?" Ted asked.

The dove sifted through the shards of glass and stood atop a brochure.

Cutting his fingers on the glass, Ted retrieved the paper from its place on the floor. The front depicted a slight young woman in a purple dress standing before a massive building labeled 'Builders League United Gravel Mill'. On the flip side was an add offering directors to come to a place called Teufort for 'the best pay of your life!'

"Archimedes, this is expired. I mean, look at the mailing date, it's over six years old. I only pulled it from the studio junk bin because I liked the Builders League logo."

Archimedes cooed and circled his master's head.

"What? You want me to go there?"

The dove landed in Ted's long crop of graying black hair.

"You really want me to?" He said. Perhaps that would be nice. Archimedes wasn't really suggesting the trip to him, but maybe disappearing in some remote desert town would do him some good. Then again, he couldn't just leave everyone behind.

Ted groaned, "Urg, I mean... No, you know what, I'm done. No more Phil, no more Teufort and no more...this! You can't talk, or read, or think or suggest travel locations. I'm just hallucinating and need to get to bed before I pass out. Hell, I've probably been out cold for the past few minutes and just never noticed the transition."

* * *

Character Log

Ted Anderson

Location: LA, California, USA

Occupation: Director/cameraman

Andy West

Location: Rural Kentucky USA

Occupation: Farmer

* * *

**Did this chapter give anyone more clarity as to who Ted is? I'm just curious, lots of people didn't know and I want to see if this changed anything. So, from here on out, I don't know how frequent I'm going to update for the next month or so because its testing season and I'm real busy as a result. Thank you in advance for your patience :)**


	4. Back in Teufort

**Ooh! Chapter 3 at last! This is the longest chapter I've ever written for a multi-part fan fiction, I hope you all enjoy it and than you too everyone who has reviewed so far!**

* * *

"I can't believe you convinced me to do this," Ted said as he sped down a lonely New Mexico highway.

Archimedes hopped absentmindedly along the dash and nestled behind the steering wheel, giving Ted a look that said 'go on'.

"You know I was only home for two days. _Two days_. All I wanted to do was adjust back to my own time zone and relax, but no, I'm here, driving in the desert to some remote town no one's ever heard of. Great."

From behind a set of low lying desert hills, the tiny town of Teufort rose from the earth. The whole town wasn't much, just a few businesses, a shambled motel and a dump right at the heart of it all. In a skillful slide, Ted parked alongside a fountain adorning the only nice building in the area: the town hall.

"Not much in the way of a town," Ted said, stepping out onto the gravel street.

Archimedes flew up and took his perch on Ted's shoulder before the car door could lock him inside.

"Hey there folks!" A stocky man in a suit called as he jogged towards Ted, "Welcome to the wonderful town of Teufort, I'm the mayor. Please though, call me Mike."

"Ah, yes, hello," Ted replied, "Could you direct me to the company Builder's League United? I've been told they own a gravel mill in the area."

The mayor scratched his chin, "Mmmmh, I don't know anything about a _gravel_ mill, but we do have an excellent multi-milled beer. Or I could show you the town hall, we have a very nice courthouse and prison there. We don't get many visitors..."

"I don't care about your town hall. I want you to tell me where I can find the company Builder's League United."

"Welllllllllllll, I suppose you could check the abandoned gravel pits east of town, but..."

Ted whipped back around and started his car. In an instant, he was off and chasing the rising sun. Within minutes of leaving the city limit, black scorch marks and craters appeared across the stark landscape. Soon, the paved road ended and Ted found himself traveling along a deteriorating dirt trail. Farther along, bits of rusted metal littered the ground. At one point, he had to swerve to avoid the rotting husk of what looked like a massive metal tank. With every passing minute, the road grew more and more war torn.

At this point, most men would've turned back. They would've driven straight back to civilization and forgotten the place all together. But not Ted. The more he drove, the more questions popped into his head. What happened here? Why were they fighting? Where did all this metal come from? And why did they need a director?

Finally, as the carnage seemed to reach its peak, the same Builders League United building from the brochure appeared. Only, it wasn't the same. Half the building was missing, a silo was toppled into its side, and the remainder of the BLU logo read only 'gue Unit'. Just to the left of the building, a 20 foot chain link gate sat open and blocked by another downed tank.

"Looks like we'll have to continue on foot," Ted said, "Should we even go in?"

Archimedes blinked back at Ted and bobbed his head back and forth.

"I suppose we came all this way. It would be a shame not to at least _investigate_."

Ted walked carefully over the debris strewn about the edges of the gate. Just inside, a small dirt courtyard caked in oil opened into two oversized hallways with the base of the BLU tower at his back.

"What do you think," Ted asked, "door A or B?"

Archimedes took off from Ted's shoulder and landed at the edge of the hallway marked A.

Ted rolled his eyes, "Of course, A for Archimedes."

Before Ted could continue down the hall, the slide of a metallic door stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, Ted turned to face the source of the sound.

"Howdy."

Ted blinked vacantly at the man standing before him. Clad almost entirely in blue, the stocky man wore a warm smile and spoke in a low Texas accent.

"Hello," Ted finally replied in his neutral western accent.

"My name's Dell, Ah'm the engineer round here...Is there, uh, somethin Ah can help ya with?"

"Yes. Tell me about this place."

The Texan stepped forward and closed the door of the garage. "Well mister, there ain't much to tell. A long time ago, this land was just a simple gravel pit, but then these two companies, Reliable Excavation," he pointed to the top of a tower peaking over the hill covering the hallways, "and Demolition and Builders League United," Dell jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, "started fightin over who'd own the land. That's when the gravel war started. Each side'd hired a team a nine ta try an defeat the other an claim the land-"

"This land," Ted said, "why is it so valuable?"

"It's not."

Ted frowned, "Then why were they fighting for it?"

"Because they _thought_ it was valuable."

"What about all this," Ted gestured to the tank at the gate, "junk?"

"Well that's uh, eh, how do Ah explain this..."

"You know what, I don't think you know very much about this. I'm going to take a look around for myself. Go on and go back to...whatever it is you mechanic types do."

Dell held onto a smile until Ted was well down the A hall. Donning a scowl, Dell strode back into the BLU base.

The second he entered the room, Miss. Pauling shot to her feet, "Is it him?"

"Yeah it's him alright."

"Great. Did he remember you?"

Dell shook his head. "Nope," he said, taking a seat on the room's second chair, "he din remember anythin about me or the base."

"Darn. Do you know how we're going to get him back?"

"Ah've got no idea. Ah din expect any of 'em ta make their way back on their own."

Miss. Pauling tapped the edge of her chin, "True, but there must still be _some_ way to get him back."

"Maybe... What if we can't get him to remember?"

"Well, you got your memory back from a wipe."

Dell busied himself with a loose thread on the arm of his chair. "Ah dunno, that was different. It was only one memory, not my whole life. Besides, Gray used different technology than my daddy, it might be more effective, or more permanent."

Miss. Pauling paced around the small dining table, "True, but it would be worth a shot to interrogate him. You know, ask him questions only Medic would know the answer to. That might jog his memory."

"Well, Ah suppose it can't hurt ta try. Ah'll go get 'im. He's probably still wanderin the base."

Dell wandered from the BLU base out into the starting common. Slowly, he made his way down the one segment of the A hall that hadn't collapsed. Stiffly, he sat on the ledge of the hall mouth and dropped to the hard rock ground below. Once upon a time, Dell would've jumped straight off the ledge, but it'd been far too long since he'd traversed the inner control points of RED base and he was older now than in the days Gravel Pit was in operation.

Dell took a quick glance around the A cap area, "Looks like somebody made his way to C." He mumbled.

Climbing over hunks of metal and scrap, Dell made his way up to the path from A to C. When Dell stepped into the concrete divide, he couldn't help but smile. Carved into the wall were the initials DC. It wasn't much, but it was a tribute to the longest standoff in the Gravel War. For three days, it had been RED vs BLU with each side refusing to give in to the other. Dell must have built and repaired around forty sentries throughout the course of the battle, just waiting for some side to win. In the end, Victory had gone to BLU and the DC would, hopefully, never let anyone forget that.

A frantic set of coos resonated off the walls of the tunnel as Archimedes flew swiftly towards Dell.

"Whoa there little fella, what's gotcha all worked up?"

The dove circled Dell twice before shooting off towards cap C. Dell's brow furrowed his brow and followed the little bird into the C courtyard. Overall, the C cap was the least damaged. Sure a few robot parts were rusting about on the ground, but the C tower and adjoining buildings were still intact. The only main issue was the satellite dish that had fallen from the tower and created its own crater right before the connecting hall to B cap.

Archimedes zipped between Dell and the RED respawn. Each time he reached an endpoint of his flight, he would coo urgently and zip to the next target.

"What?" Dell said, "Did someone leave a big bag a bird seed in the RED base?"

Archimedes circled Dell as he stood before RED's resupply door.

"Alright, alright, Ah'm openin the door. Don get so worked up."

Dell set the sliding metal door to automatic and watched as the resupply door ground open. At first, there didn't appear to be anything in the room save a rotting set of wood lockers, then he saw Ted. In all his polo and kaki glory sat on his knees, giving the thousand yard stare to the RED medical bay.

"Are ya doin alright?" Dell asked tentatively.

In a thick German accent, Medic replied, "Zhe past two years of my life have been a lie."

* * *

"Evening Mr. Carter. How's my favorite pencil pusher?"

With a light sigh, Connor met the eyes of his superior, "Good evening Greg."

"I was wondering, well, you see, I'm going out to the pub tonight and...Ah...I _also_ have to finish the monthly profit reports..."

"Greg, please get to the point."

"I want you to finish the reports and have them on my desk tomorrow morning. With my name on them, of course, wouldn't want the boss to think you're _worth_ something."

Connor shrunk into his seat. He'd had his own plans for the night. As always, he planned to meet his best friend Albert for a couple rounds of bowling in preparation for their winter league. It was their Friday night tradition.

"Of course," Connor said, "I'll have the report on your desk tonight."

"Excellent! I suppose I'll see you Monday then, you don't do weekends right?"

Before Connor could respond, Greg sped from the office, leaving Connor alone in the gray cubicle. In an instant, Connor had that months profits up on his computer. With a calculator and aging typewriter, he copied and calculated the various array of gains and losses of the massive lending firm. Soon, there was nothing but the methodical click of type keys on the desolate fourteenth floor. In all truth, Connor didn't mind finishing the work of his colleagues. If they were happy, he was happy. There was no point in letting people go on unhappy, everyone deserved the best day possible and it was his job ensure that, even if it meant sacrificing his day.

Finally, at two in the morning, Connor set a large stack of paper on Greg's desk, pulled a local newspaper clipping from his desk and took the lift to the lobby. Despite the hour, there was one last thing Connor had to do before he could head home and rest. The little article in his hand mentioned an exhibit exchange with America at the local history museum. Being a bit of a history buff, Connor wanted to see for himself if the exhibit really did exist. Walking away from his apartment, Connor found himself at the doors of the history museum.

'Behind Enemy Lines: The Infamous D-Day (In exchange with the American National History Museum)' read the massive banner strung across the museum's front. Ever since he'd read the article in the paper, he'd been anticipating the arrival of the acclaimed exhibit. And to think, America, there was nothing like history from the perspective of other nations.

* * *

Connor Carter

Location: London, England

Occupation: Accountant

* * *

**Dear readers, I am American. As a result of this, I may have written the people who are supposed to be English too American. If this is true, I would greatly appreciate if you would, kindly, correct me, thank you :) Also, I want to hear who you all think Connor is. I gave one major hint if you've read any of my other works because I see what I did there. Oh and the memory thing Dell mentions, I took that from another piece I did called Chance Meeting. Thank you for reading this far! I'll try and get the next chapter out soon.**


	5. Everything Forgotten

There it was, McDonalds. Most people didn't think much of the place. They thought it was just some cheap, fattening chain restaurant that only hired unskilled, unintelligent, underpaid teens. They thought McDonalds was a dump, but Rick thought otherwise. To him, McDonalds was a sanctuary. There, he could forget the hardships of life and just work. Every day, he could open those doors, step inside and take charge of the _best_ fast food restaurant in New Jersey. Then again, nothing less could be expected from an eatery run by Rick. After two straight years of working his way up the ladder, he was on top and he planned to stay there for a _very_ long time.

Quickly, Rick strode through the front door. Everything inside was running smoothly despite the mild rush.

"Hey Rick," his training manger called, "where've ya been? I've been lookin for ya all evenin!"

"I already told ya, I was at the bank, gotta keep our profits safe somehow."

"Oh. Well, could ya take care of payroll? Christine forgot to do it last night."

"No problem," Rick said, "if you need me, just call."

Jake nodded and turned back to the grill he was managing.

_Christine_, Rick though, _I'm going to have to talk to her about shirking responsibility_.

Weaving his way through the lesser traveled fryer rout, Rick soon found himself at the back of the kitchen and in his manager's office. Quickly, he switched the card on the exterior wall from green to red to signify to his employees that they should only bother him if it was _really_ urgent. With a crack of his knuckles, Rick got to work. In a practiced flurry of speed, Rick shot through payroll while softly singing the Top Gun version of Danger Zone. By the time he finished, the lobby had closed and only the drive though remained open.

"Well," he said as he strode to the lobby, "looks like I'm done for the day."

"Yeah," Jake said, "It's gettin pretty late. Ya headin home?"

Rick nodded, "Yessir, I gotta get a good night's rest before tomorrow. Saturdays, you know how they are."

"Oh I know," Jake said with an exasperated smile, "Hey, before ya go home, ya should drop by that club, uh, Lex I think it is. Sal really wants ta meet up and have a drink with ya."

Rick placed his hands on his hips and shook his head, "No can do. Work's gotta come first. All I've ever learned in life is that ya gotta stay focused on what matters, and Sal, well, she's nice and all, but, she'll distract me from my goals."

"What goals? I thought ya already got all ya wanted when ya became manager."

Rick puffed out his chest, "No Jake, I've set new goals, this time, I wanna go bigger than the restaurant. This time, I'm aimin for corporate."

* * *

"Should we get him to talk?"

Dell shook his head, "Nah, we just need ta give him time ta get used to everythin. Ah bet this's a real shock to his system."

Miss. Pauling sighed, "You're probably right, but, he hasn't moved in nearly twelve hours."

"Ah dunno, Archimedes seems happy."

Archimedes cooed from the nest he'd made in Medic's hair. Finally, Medic stood and walked to the small camp Dell and Miss. Pauling had made in the RED base. His eyes remained blank and unfocused.

"Are ya ready ta talk?" Dell asked.

"I can't believe it," Medic said, "I spent zhe last two years of my life thinking I vas Ted. I vas thoroughly convinced zhat I vas a director. And zhat I had recently gotten my start in zhe industry. I thought my parents vere Max and Alice Anderson. I forgot Germany and German and zhe Third Reich and Russia and...everything. I feel like I just lost two years of my life."

The room sat in an awkward silence. Neither Miss. Pauling nor Dell knew what to say. It wasn't as if either could give a reassuring word, or even a sliver of compensation.

"I suppose it's nice I at least had a decent life those two years. Could you imagine if I'd just been dumped in zhe street, jobless and homeless? Still though..." Carefully, the doctor took Archimedes from his head and stroked the white plumage along the dove's head and back, "And you. Looks like Heavy followed through vith his promise. Tell me, do you know vhere your friends are?"

Archimedes turned back to his master and rocked his head from side to side.

"I thought you'd respond zhat vay."

Medic's eyes suddenly snapped into focus on Dell and Miss. Pauling.

"Oh," he said, "vhen did you two get here?"

Dell gave a confused glance to Miss. Pauling. The assistant returned the gaze.

"We've been sittin here for twelve hours," Dell said.

"Vhat? Vell, vhere's zhe rest of zhe team?"

Miss. Pauling and Dell diverted their gazes back to Medic.

"From what we know, they're in the same position as you were," Miss. Pauling said, "And they probably don't remember anything."

"Ah."

Medic wandered back to the crumbling medical bay. He rummaged through one of the cabinets until he found a case of sedatives. Briefly, he opened the case to check if there was still solution in the syringes. Satisfied with his findings, he shut the case and began to pick through a selection of blood bags.

"You know," he said, "it's interesting how I came to remember everything. Zhe more I walked through zhe control points, zhe more I got zhis nagging feeling zhat something vas familiar. Zhe closer I came to zhe RED base, the stronger zhe feeling became. Zhen I came in here, and zhis memory hit me zhat didn't quite fit vith zhe others."

Medic walked over to Dell, jammed a needle into his arm and started filling a plastic bag with his blood.

"Ow, the hell's this for doc?" Dell grumbled.

"It's for zhe über formula. Zhe blood ve have's gone stale. Anyvay, zhis memory vas of a time, during zhat three day standoff, zhat I had to replace zhe stomach of our Demo. Turns out, he vas shot zhere and _didn't_ come to me until it vas too late to send him to respawn properly. Zhat's vhen I thought to myself; vait, vhy would I be replacing a man's stomach? I've never done a movie like zhat before. Zhen, everything came back to me all at once."

Medic returned to the lab and proceeded to mix the blood with a variety of other chemicals.

"In all honesty, zhe situation still comes as a shock to me. All those things I never thought I'd forget we're gone so quickly. And to have zhe old memories replaced vith new ones? It's a difficult situation to grasp...So, Engineer, how did you get your memory back?"

Dell reclined against the wood wall, "Ah never had my memory changed."

Medic turned sharply, "Vhat?"

"Well, Ah wasn't captured like the resta y'all. As soon as the base collapsed and everybody'd scattered, Ah made my way ta Texas. Somewhere between the boarder an Bee Cave, Spy met up with me at a gas station. He said he had ta stay with me, din explain why. Bout an hour later, we were ambushed by a group a robots. They pushed us back into an old industrial park. That's when Spy strapped these to my wrist" Dell held up his left hand to reveal the cloak and dagger and the silver invisiwatch secured tightly to his arm, "gave me his dead ringer an told me ta go fake my death then run. Ah did as he said an escaped. The robots bought the dummy body an I was able ta follow them back to Gray Gravel an learn a bit about Grays plans."

"Vhich are?"

"Wait until he can figure out how respawn works then take us out. Ah think he sees us as a threat to his operation."

Medic shrugged, "I suppose zhat vould make sense. Ve still have ties to Mann Co. and ve _could _be called upon to act on zheir behalf."

"Exactly," Miss. Pauling said, "even though Hale and his men are more or less out of the picture, Hale still controls the company. And so long as the Administrator's alive, Gray will never have full control of the Australium stocks. Maybe if we can find her we could-"

"I don't care about Mann Co.," Medic scoffed, "zhis is more of a personal matter now."

With a groan, Medic slid to the floor, thousand yard stare returning to his face. After a few minutes, he stood and stared blankly around the room. "Vhere am I?"

"Gravel Pit," Dell replied.

"Right, right…oh!" realization lit up the German's face, "Ja! I remember now!" Medic's figure slouched, "I vasted two years of my life as some vorthless director…. Come to think of it, zhis whole memory replacing technology, would you happen to know anything about it, Engineer?"

"Nope."

"Hmm, I vonder if it has different effects on others. Vill zhey lapse like I have, or vill zhey take it differently. And vhat vill it take to get someone to remember who they are? Does it have to be a specific memory or can it be general?"

Rather suddenly, Medic went limp and collapsed to the floor. In the still conscious section of his mind, it occurred to Medic that perhapse a flashback of his entire life was a bit much for his brain to handle and attempting to solve the mystery of the memory replacement wasn't aiding his predicament. Even after twelve hours, he still hadn't recovered all of his memory. During his talk with Engineer and Miss. Pauling, bits and pieces of his life came fluttering back to him, all fighting for his conscious attention. In theory, it would be better for him to lie on the floor and concentrate on the memories, but there was work to be done. In the immediate future, he had to collect samples, gather test subjects, find out how this had happened, and learn everything there was to know about the memory replacement system. He had to….At that point, Medic fell unconscious.

For the next few hours, Medic dreamed. Overall it was nothing memorable, a few seemingly random days of his life that he happened to remember. Then there was _that_ memory.

_In a fairly small and dimly lit dining room, two men faced each other, one standing and the other siting. The younger of the two sat twirling the edge of his untucked shirt and humming quietly to himself. The older man stood, watching the other and taking careful note of his nervous habits._

"_Viktor, it's time you learned the family trade."_

_The thin young man glanced back at his father, "Wh-what?" he stuttered._

"_You heard me, it's time to be a man and take on the trade this family is known for."_

"_M-medicine right?"_

_The father shook his head, "Nein, the Führer did not hire us for mere medicinal purposes. Not at all, we are Klauss! It is our duty to go where no other man dares go; towards progress! It is up to us to push the limits of human ability and create the best man possible."_

_Viktor stood to look the older man in the eye, "But father, I don't want to do what you do."_

"_Oh," he said, raising an eyebrow, "and why not."_

_With more confidence, the man pulled back his shoulders and took a step towards his elder, "Because I got a medical license to help people, not hurt them!"_

_The father merely laughed. It was a deep cynical laugh that automatically sent a shiver down Viktor's spine._

"_Dear Viktor, dear sweet __innocent__ Viktor. Healing people isn't __helping__ them, it's simply prolonging the inevitable. What __we__ do is improve, we make the human race stronger, not only for this generation, but for all generations to come. Wouldn't you prefer to benefit all mankind than help a small select few?"_

_Viktor shrank before the zealous might of the other man, "Y-yes, but, your way hurts people, and that's not right."_

_The father paced about his son until he was able to wrap his arms around him in a manner similar to how a conman might distract a target before stealing their pocketed valuables, "What you need to come to understand," he hummed, "is that some individuals will have to suffer if the population as a whole is to succeed. You can understand this, yes?"_

"_Ja," Viktor replied, "but, j-just because something has b-been done a c-certain way before doesn't m-m-mean that it has to be done the s-same way anymore. Don't y-you always say that there's always an-another way?"_

_The father sneered at his son, "Yes, but wasn't it your mother who said that one must try a recipe the way it is written before making their own changes?"_

_Viktor paled, his father nearly never talked about his mother. She had become someone he disregarded while Viktor held on to the little memories he had of her for some form of caring and comfort in his father's cold and logical world. "She did say that," Viktor admitted in a whisper._

"_What was that?" his father said, placing a hand to his ear._

"_I-I said, she did s-s-say that."_

_The father grinned his lopsided smile that never seemed to bring the other half of his face along with it, "That's it boy, now, confidently, without a stutter!"_

"_I said my mother had that quote and I don't want to try your recipe!" Viktor yelled as he moved to exit the room._

_His father grabbed tightly to his son's lower arm, "I'm not giving you a choice Viktor."_

_The scenery shifted and Viktor found himself standing before a gray steel door._

"_Now," his father said, "if anything goes wrong, you can always call for me or a guard. But remember, you're in control, not him. God I hope this becomes your subject, he really is an excellent specimen."_

"_Y-yes, I agree. Are you s-sure th-their's no other way though? Y-you know, p-positive reinforcement works w-w-well on children m-maybe it c-could work her t-too."_

_The father shook his head, "Nein Viktor, these men are trained not to succumb to bribery or 'positive reinforcement'. The only way to get them to do what you want is through punishment. Now, get in there and take your rightful place as his master!"_

_The door swung open and the father forced his son inside. With a heavy click, the bolts of the door locked and Viktor was trapped. Inside, a pristine white cell radiated the florescent lights from above. At the center of the room sat a thin man with graying hair strapped by his wrists and ankles to a heavy wood chair. Just above his left wrist sat a thin metal band attached to an electric generator._

_The man's bright blue eyes followed Viktor quietly as he made his way to the chair across from the man. Hands shaking, Viktor picked up the shock button and turned on the generator._

_Viktor cleared his throat, "A-allo,"he said in well-practiced French._

"_Bonjour," the man relied coolly._

"_G-good, y-you can speak. T-tell me, wh-what is your name?"_

_The man smirked, "John Smith."_

_Viktor frowned. He was fairly certain that was a fake name, "N-no, no, your real name please."_

"_John Doe."_

_Viktor scowled harder, he knew for a fact Jane Doe was not a name most live men would have, "N-no, I s-s-said g-give me y-your r-rr-real name!"_

_The Frenchman shook his head, "You're just a child, aren't you?"_

_Viktor shrank into the rough wood chair he sat in, "N. N. N-no. I'm not a child."_

"_Please," the man scoffed, "look at yourself, you're pathetic. S-stuttering about, cowering. You can't even look me in the eye can you?"_

_Viktor squeezed his eyes shut. __No father, no, __he screamed mentaly, __I'm not weak, I'm not a child! I'm a man now, I can take care of myself, and I can get through this interrogation!_

"_Come on boy, walk away," the man said, "take the easy route and save yourself the embarrassment. I'm not worth your time or your sanity."_

"_Viktor!" his father shouted over the intercom, "Don't listen to him, you can do it! He does not control you, he is not the master!"_

"_No, you're not the master, you never will be. You're a child, there will always be people stronger than you, smarter than you, better than you. Give up. You're not strong enough to go through with this. You don't have the stomach to interrogate me because you know that you will never control me and I will never submit to you."_

"_Viktor, he's lying to you! You'll be fine. Just. Take. Control."_

_Viktor curled up tighter onto is chair. Eyes shut, he cupped his hands over his ears and started humming to himself. Before long, he found himself rocking slightly on the chair. His breathing became labored and if anyone could see his face, it would've been streaked with tears. No matter what he did, he couldn't block out the two men and no one was there to make them stop. His heartrate steadily increased and his breath grew short. He was sure he'd pass out then-_

"_Shut up!" he screamed in German, "Both of you shut up! Stop judging me! Stop telling me what to do! Stop treating me like a child! This is __my__ interrogation, __my__ test subject and __my__ life!"_

_With an anger directed more at his father than the Frenchman, Viktor took the generator up to its highest non-lethal level and poised his thumb over the trigger, "You," he yelled, "tell me your name!"_

"_I-"_

_Viktor tapped the trigger and the man screamed, "Give me your name __now__!"_

"_Phillippe Picaro," the man said, voice wavering._

"_What were you doing impersonating an SS in Auschwitz last month?"_

"_I'm not going to tell you that."_

_Viktor held the trigger for a second and watched Phillippe scream and writhe against his restraints, "Tell me!" he shouted._

"_No."_

_Phillippe__ lest out another cry of agony as electricity shot through his body._

"_Tell me!"_

"_No."_

_Viktor grit his teeth and held his thumb down on the trigger. Phillippe's screams intensified until the only sound to come from his throat was a sobbing, screaming cry for mercy. After several minutes, Viktor released his hold on the trigger. Extending from the electric node, a set of raised black scars traced the veins on the inside of his arm up until they disappeared beneath his shirt._

_The young German approached the shaking Frenchman and unlatched his restraints. Immediately, the man fell, twitching and shaking, to the floor._

"_Now," Viktor said, voice dropped to barely more than a whisper, "are you ready to answer my questions?"_

_Phillippe nodded as best he could through the spasms racking his body._

"_Good. Let's hope for your sake," Viktor clipped the trigger to the collar of his shirt, "I won't have to use this again."_

"Doc. Doc, hey you alright?"

Medic blinked wearily at Dell, "Vhat? Yes, I'm fine."

"Good. Ah didn't want you ta sleep the whole trip."

"Trip?"

Dell pointed out the window of the truck as it sped down the interstate, "Yep, we're headin to Kentucky."

* * *

Rick Thomson

Location: New Jersey

Occupation: McDonalds manager

* * *

**Hello dear readers, I would really appreciate reviews/feedback/constructive criticism on this chapter because of that there (hopefully) character development at the end. It's one of my first times doing something like that so I would like to know how well that went over. Also, thank you all for the reviews and follows and favorites and just plain bothering to read this. You lot are the best!**


	6. Returning the Favor

"Kentucky?"

Engineer nodded, "Yeah."

Medic shifted his position so he could look out the window of the truck, "Vhy are ve going zhere?"

"Spy's there, Ah think. See, Ah did some diggin an- turn left here," he said to Miss. Pauling, "an Ah was able to track who Ah think is Spy to this lil farm in Eastern Kentucky."

"How much longer until we arrive?"

"Ten minutes maybe, you've been out for a couple a days."

"Ah..."

For the rest of the trip, Medic kept his attention focused out the window. The surrounding scenery wasn't really much to look at, mostly just rows and rows of wheat fields broken only by dirt roads off shooting to God knows where.

"Turn right there," Engineer said, pointing at a dirt road on the right.

"Now," he said, "it should just be...there, that lil house up ahead."

At the end of the road stood a dull brown farmhouse with a sweeping covered porch and a massive green combine parked alongside it. Out front, an older man wearing nothing but a deteriorating pair of overalls tended to a little garden beside the porch.

"You comin?" Engineer asked as Miss. Pauling cut the engine.

Medic shook his head, "But bring me back a report of how he reacts."

Dell and Miss. Pauling exited the truck and started off towards the house.

The man in the garden stopped and turned his attention to the visitors, "Howdy!" he said with a wave.

At that point, Dell almost burst out laughing. The man's face, neck and shoulders were thoroughly sunburned and his gray hair was kept long and tied back in a ponytail, but there was no doubting that the man was Spy.

"Hello," Miss. Pauling replied.

"Nice ta meetcha ma'am, my name's Andy."

"Pauling, and that's Dell," the assistant said.

Andy smiled, wide and lopsided, "Well ain't that swell? Say, what brings you nice folks out here today?"

"Uh..."

"A survey," Engineer said, "we're doin a survey about... water consumption, it's uh, very important ya answer our questions."

"Ah'd be happy ta help answer yer water questions."

Andy set down his trowel and walked onto the porch.

"Why dontcha y'all c'mon up here? That sun's a killer."

The Teufort two stepped under the shade of the porch and took a seat on the brown wicker couch. Andy sat, legs spread and elbows hunched into knees across from them in a wicker chair.

"Alrighty, whaddaya wanna know?"

"Well, uh, what's yer annual usage fer irrigation in millions a gallons?"

"Ah dunno, I mostly just turn on the hose an water comes out. I don keep track of the amount, that's what them big ol corporate places an educated folk are for."

Dell nodded slowly, "Uh, well….then, uh, where d'ya getcher water from?"

"The city, they're real nice 'bout it. Listen, Ah gotta go in an check on mah wife real quick. Why dontch y'all come on in with me."

Dell gave a quick concerned glance to Miss. Pauling and proceeded to follow Andy inside. Inside, a narrow entryway expanded into a large living room, dining room combo. Every piece of furniture and counter was wood and the walls were decorated in pale floral wallpaper.

"Hey honey," Andy said as he entered the main room.

On the couch lay a very pregnant woman covered in a mountain of blankets, "Howdy," she said.

"Martha," Andy said, "Ah'd like ya ta meet Dell an Pauling. They're some real nice folks from the water company just come by ta ask 'bout the farm water."

"That's nice," Martha replied, drifting off back to sleep.

"How're ya feelin?"

"Sleepy."

"Alrighty then. Ah'll take these folks to the sittin room then an if there's anythin you need, just call me."

Martha nodded and Andy led Dell and Miss. Pauling upstairs.

"So," Miss. Pauling started, "that's your wife. Have you two been married long?"

Andy chuckled, "Actually, we ain't married yet. See we're savin up money so's we can go ta one a them fancy Spanish missions in Cali-for-ni-a. That's Martha's dream weddin an Ah'm gonna make it happen."

Miss. Pauling nodded, "Mmh. Would you mind if we ask you a couple of personal questions for survey purposes? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but your cooperation is preferred."

"Sure," Andy said, flopping onto the upstairs couch.

Miss. Pauling and Dell remained standing, "Perfect. What nationality are you and your parents? Like, what country do they come from?"

Andy smiled proudly, "Mah folks an Ah are all from the U-nited States of Amer-i-ca."

"I see...tell me, how long have you had this farm?"

"Ma'am, Ah was born an raised in this 'ere farmhouse."

"Okay and-"

A crash came from downstairs, "Andy! Andy! Andy, help me!"

"Martha!" Andy called, racing downstairs.

"Andy, help me! The baby's comin!"

Andy's eyes widened, "Ah'll call the doc!"

"Don bother, he's outta town till tomorrow."

Miss. Pauling turned to Dell, "What about Medic, he can help."

Dell turned sharply back to Miss. Pauling, "Ah don think that's such a good idea."

The Texan turned to the frantic couple, "Mah truck's parked out front, y'all go get in an Ah'll drive ya to the hospital."

Breathing heavily, Martha hid behind her husband, "The hospital?! Honey, no! Ah ain't goin there!"

Andy put a loving arm around the woman, "Looks like we don have much a choice."

As gently as he could, Andy hustled his wife out of the house and to the truck. He and Martha slid into the backseat while Dell and Miss. Pauling ran up front.

"Vhat is happening?" Medic asked while sliding away from the filthy Andy.

"We gotta get to the hospital," Andy said, "mah wife's havin a baby!"

"A baby?" Medic asked, a hint of excitement in his voice, "Vell if zhats zhe case zhen I can..."

"Andy," Dell interjected, "this is my partner, Joseph, he tests the water for pollutants."

Medic frowned, "Joseph?"

"Nice ta meetcha," Andy said, "ya know, you folks's real nice fer helpin us out."

"It's our pleasure," Dell said.

"Dell," Miss. Pauling hissed from the driver's seat, "why won't you let Medic deliver the baby? It's going to be a lot harder to talk to Spy at the hospital."

Dell dropped his voice to a whisper, "Ah wouldn't trust him with that sorta thing. He ain't exactly the gentle type you'd want deliverin babies."

"Alright, but what are we going to do about Spy?"

"Ah have an idea, but Ah think we should wait until that woman's in safe hands."

Miss. Pauling sighed, "Right."

In one of the fastest parking jobs Dell had ever seen, Miss. Pauling swung the truck into place in front of the small hospital just beyond the farmlands. Dell got out and assisted Andy in getting Martha into the hospital. This time, Medic trailed behind the group only to disappear seconds after entering the building.

The secretary at the desk looked up, "Hello, can I help... Oh dear! Dr. Wilson, come quick, we've got a woman going into labor."

A fairly short man jogged into the room, followed by a small team of nurses. Together, they helped Martha onto a gurney and rushed her to the delivery room. Andy moved to follow through the windowless double doors.

"Uh bup bup," a nurse said, placing a hand firmly on Andy's chest, "you're not allowed in there until we're finished."

"What! But, Ah've always been with her when she has baby."

"I'm sorry sir, you'll just have to wait on the lobby and fill out a couple of questions for us about Martha."

Andy swatted the nurse's hand off his shoulder, "Ah ain't fillin out none a yer paperwork. Everythin ya wanna know is in this file."

Andy handed the woman a small book the size of a passport.

"Oh!" the nurse exclaimed, "She's a surrogate," she waved the book lightly, "This will make things a lot easier. Take a seat in the lobby and I'll come get you when the baby's been born."

Andy nodded solemnly and sank into a plush chair of the lobby. Dell and Miss. Pauling followed suit in the adjoining chairs.

"Are ya nervous?" Dell asked to make conversation.

"Nah," Andy replied, "Like the nurse said, Martha's a surrogate so's this ain't the first child she's had. Ah just don like not bein with 'er."

"It'll be alright, these doctors look like good people."

Andy brought his head up to look at Dell, "Ya think so? Ah ain't ne're been ta the hospital before."

"Well, these docs look like mighty fine people, yer wife'll be fine... Uh, Ah dunno if this's a great time, but, there's somethin Ah wanna give ya...for the baby an takin yer time up today."

Andy gave a look of surprise as Dell removed the silver Invisiwatch from his wrist and handed it to the farmer.

"Wow," he breathed, "this's real nice mister."

Dell watched patiently as Andy examined the watch.

Andy's face scrunched up in concentration. Some part of him was saying that the watch was not a gift, but a return. The watch was his, not Dell's. And yet, how could that be? He'd never even met the engineer before today, or, had he?

Gingerly, he set the watch on his wrist and latched the size perfectly on his first try. On the digital face were three buttons, set, glow and mode. On the side though was a small button marked Inv. Andy set his finger over the button and was just about to press down when the nurse returned.

With a satisfied grin, the nurse motioned for the group to follow her. Forgetting completely about the watch, Andy stood and rushed after the nurse.

"Here," the nurse said, "they're right through those doors."

Andy pushed through the double doors and saw the doctor standing just next to Martha who was holding a small bundle in her arms.

"C'mover here," she said.

Ignoring a nagging sense of déjà-vu rising in his mind, and walked over to stand next to his wife.

"Look," she said, "it's a boy."

Gently, she brushed back the baby's blanket and tilted his face toward Andy.

At that moment, a wave of nausea washed over Andy. His couldn't breathe or stand and he slid, gagging, to the floor. He heard the doctors above yelling for help, something about a heart attack, but that wasn't it. He wasn't suffering from a heart attack, this was something else. His vision faded in and out as memories flashed before his eyes. At first, he didn't know where the memories were coming from, then it hit him. Andy wasn't real. He was an illusion fabricated by someone. By Gray Mann. And he wasn't a farmer, he was an assassin. He wasn't American, he was French. Above all, he wasn't Andy, he was...

In a matter of seconds, Spy knocked out the two doctors attempting CPR.

Medic walked into the room toting an array of stolen medical equipment, "Vell," he said, "looks like someone is back to their old self."

Spy turned violently to Medic and wrapped his hands tightly around his throat.

"Woah there," Engineer said as he rushed to pry the panting Frenchman from Medic, "ain't no need for that. You feelin alright, Andy?"

"Andy?" Spy spat, "_Never_ refer to me by _that_ name again."

"Okay, Ah just wanted ta know if you're doin alright."

"Alright? Tell me _laborer_ do I look 'alright' to you?"

"No, Ah suppose not."

"Exactly, I've been stuck as this…imbecile for the past two years of my life. Consider it; I've been out of a job, a real job, for years now. Do you have any idea what that does to my reputation? I start to look unreliable and incompetent."

Medic cocked his head slightly. He figured that wasn't all that was plaguing the assassin, but he didn't want to bring up the matter, not yet. He figured he'd wait until Spy relaxed and could accurately recount how getting his memory back was before pressing him for details.

"Look," Engineer said, "Ah know you ain't happy with the situation, but, ya still need ta fix the mess back in delivery. That woman, Martha, she's worried sick for yer health, nearly sent her into a panic attack."

Spy rolled his eyes, "Fine."

With all the dignity he could muster, Spy marched from the hospital room down to delivery. Roughly, he pushed aside the doctor and stood a few paces from Martha's hospital bed.

"Oh Andy, I was beginin ta think somethin bad'd happened to ya an…"

"Madam, I am here to inform you that Andy did not, does not, and will not exist. He was a fabrication of a mad man. I…well, it's not important who _I _am, but I'm most certainly not Andy."

A look of distress darkened Martha's face, "Doctor help him, he's gone mad!"

"Rather the contrary," Spy replied, "I'm far more sane than I have been in years. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have much more important business to attend to than making light conversation with lowlifes such as yourselves."

Everyone in the room, save Spy, held a look of shock and disbelief as he left the room. Engineer, Medic and Miss. Pauling followed Spy into the elevator.

"We need to go to France," he said as soon as the doors slid shut.

"Why," Mss. Pauling asked.

"Vait," Medic said, "you just got your entire life's memory back and you're already calling the shots. Shouldn't you be going into shock or relapse or something?"

"Perhaps," Spy said, closing his eyes for several seconds, "but, there's a lot of work to be done and we are going to need equipment and supplies if we're ever to get anything done properly."

"In France?"

Spy smiled maliciously, "Yes."

* * *

"Louie, hey! Louie!"

"Ehy Mack Ay'm right here ya don't have ta yell at meh."

Mack strode up to his captain, "Ay know Ay know, just gotta get yer attention s'all. We're pullin upta a good spot."

Louis took his feet off his desk, "Well it's about time ain't it."

Pushing past Mack, Louis strode out onto the deck of the Mississippi Mud Rucker. He glanced around at his crew to assess the situation. Rain fell lightly on the deck and surrounding water. Two men on deck shuffled the pooling water off the wood with mops. Another ten were working together to pull the boat up to shore using lines harpooned into trees. The remaining men were gathered on the port side and preparing to disembark. Louis picked up a small spear and joined his men.

Altogether, the hunting party jumped from the edge of the boat. Each man spread out and found their own section of the bank to farm.

Louis sat back until his legs were fully submerged in the river. Just before him was a small indent pressed into the submerged bank. Carefully, Louis rolled up his sleeve and stuck his arm in the hole until the water was nearly up to his shoulder. Letting out all the air in his lungs, Louis relaxed his body and began wiggling his fingers back and forth.

"C'mon lil mudbug," he grumbled.

Soon, Louis felt the tickle of antennae against his fingers. He held his breath. It was all up to the mudbug now, and he hoped beyond anything it would catch. Recently, his boat had come back unable to fill quota. Just last port, he'd had to use money from his own pocket to make sure his men were paid fully. Times were tough, especially considering that the Cajun BBQ he was paid by went through budget cuts last month.

Then, a pincer closed around Louis's middle finger. The remainder of his hand closed over the pincer and Louis yanked his arm from the mud. Wrapped around his hand and fighting wildly was a massive, brown mudbug. Louis clasped the wriggling, lobster like creature to his chest and hobbled back to the boat. Smiling to his crew, he dumped the mudbug in a cooler of water.

"First catch a the night!" He shouted.

The few men on deck cheered as Louis tread back out into the swamp. Hopefully, when they pulled into port next week, they'd have a nice crop of crayfish for the restaurant.

* * *

Louis Venn

Location: New Orleans Louisiana

Occupation: Captain of a riverboat

* * *

**First off, I'd like to thank anyone who reviewed/favorite/etc. because I honestly wouldn't be able to get this far without you! As always, though, I'd like to see what your guesses for Louis are. Also, I feel the need (for some reason) to ask how you all feel about backstory stuff because it's coming up soon and I need to know if I should go with it full force or if I should dial it back. **


	7. (Un)Familiar Faces

**Alright, chapter 6 (technically)! Good news, my writing will pick up in the next few weeks because it will be summer and I'll have nothing to do BUT write. Hope you all enjoy this chapter, this story's about to get real good...**

* * *

Fewer than three

steps from the truck, Spy collapsed. Instantly, Miss. Pauling was at his side to keep him from hitting the ground.

Medic chuckled, "I figured zhis vould happen. See, based simply on my own experience, I believe zhat vhen our memories are restored, our minds go into a sort of sleep-mode if you vill to prevent complete mental overload. I mean, all zhat vas speculation, but zhis more or less confirms it."

Miss. Pauling opened the back door of the truck and hauled Spy inside.

"Sure, uh, where'd Dell go?"

Medic did a quick once around of the parking lot, "I don't know...vhen did ve loose him?"

Miss. Pauling walked around the truck only to come back to where Medic stood. "Did he get in the elevator?" She asked.

Medic shrugged, "I don't know, I vasn't paying attention."

"Sorry fellas," Dell said as he jogged from the hospital towards the truck, "Ah had ta go back in there an apologize to Martha. It wasn't right, what happened to her."

Miss. Pauling hummed an agreement, "So...where are we going next?"

"France Ah suppose."

Miss. Pauling started up the truck, "Really?"

"Yeah. Ah don't have any other leads an, well, it can't hurt to go…"

Medic leaned back from his place in the passenger's seat, "Ve're honestly going to listen to Spy? Vhat if he's delusional and ve're simply vasting our time?"

Dell propped Spy upright and strapped a seatbelt over his waist. With a sigh, he reclined and looked forward to Medic, "Whadda you suggest we do then?"

"I propose ve go to New York. A, uh, friend of mine lives zhere and has a lab I could use to run some tests on Spy and myself to learn more about zhis memory viping technology."

Dell shrugged, "It's worth a shot…the more we know, the better…"

Medic smiled half-heartedly and turned to Miss. Pauling to fire off a set of theories he'd formulated on the memory issues. Meanwhile, Dell settled himself into the fabric of the seat and prepared for the long road ahead.

* * *

Miss. Pauling walked with Dell down the crowded streets of Times Square. They'd decided to wander the shops as Medic was visiting with his 'friend'.

"You really don't have any more leads then?"

Dell shook his head, "Nope, Spy was the only one I had."

"Darn….I've been thinking, do you think Gray knows what we're up to?"

"Heh, what'd make you think that?"

Miss. Pauling averted her eyes from Dell's, "Well, eh, he could be tracking you. The Administrator and I used to do that to keep tabs on your activities."

Dell shuffled awkwardly, unwilling to admit he'd known about the spying endeavor since he started working for BLU. He'd been fairly relaxed about the matter though and left the chip in, unlike Spy who'd dug the thing from his neck the first week he'd been working.

"Ah suppose y'all had ta though. What'll we do if Gray's trackin us an he attacks or somethin?"

"Gather as much of the team as we can and fight. We don't exactly have a variety of options."

Dell pulled an old cell phone from his pocket and began rewiring the motherboard with a small welder, "Yeah, it just ain't a favorable option."

Then, from her purse, Miss. Pauling's massive brick of a secure cell phone rang in its bland electronic tone. Miss. Pauling held up a hand of waiting to Dell and dove down the nearest ally. Dell leaned casually against a nearby wall and focused on his phone project. After several minutes, Miss. Pauling reappeared in the main street.

"That was Medic," she said, "He wants us to meet him at the hotel, says it's urgent."

"Alrighty then."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Dell and Miss. Pauling entered the ground floor hotel room.

"You could have severed an artery," The two heard Medic scold as they walked through the door.

"Please, doctor, I studied anatomy for six years, I know what I'm doing."

In the small bathroom just off the main room, Medic stood over the now awake Spy, dressing a wound on his lower neck. Dell noticed Spy had traded his overalls for a pressed black suit and a solid red tie.

"Ah, zhere you are," Medic said upon sighting the duo.

"What's going on here?" Miss. Pauling asked.

"Vell, I had just come back here to find this dumpkoff cutting into his own neck."

"Not without purpose," Spy said, "I had to remove that."

Spy pointed to a small microchip sitting on the bathroom counter and covered in blood. Right beside it was a second chip that had been washed clean.

"Unfortunately I have to agree vith Herr Spy on zhis. I vould appear zhat ve're being tracked. Engineer, would you confirm zhat?"

Dell picked up the clean chip and rolled it over in his hand. It was a small green microchip and antennae coated in clear epoxy.

"Ah'd bet that's a tracker," Dell confirmed, "Where'd ya get two though?"

Medic pulled up his shirt to reveal a small bandage on his abdomen, "I cut mine out as vell, or rather, Spy cut it out of me before I could bandage him."

Miss. Pauling glared at the two men, "Just curious, but, how'd you find the chips?"

Spy started to speak, but Medic cut him off, "Spy took zhe high powered magnet from zhe room safe and turned it into an electromagnet… Um, so, anyvay, I vent to speak vith my friend and he's never seen anything like zhe technology Gray used. Apparently, it doesn't leave much of a trace once it's been extinguished. He says it's something resembling a caffeine patch. Now, I von't bore you vith the details, but, it does appear zhat zhe patches are wearing out and failing."

Dell chuckled, "Ah suppose Gray din expect it to take so long ta figure out respawn."

Medic wiped the blood from his hands, "Nein, I suppose not."

Spy fixed his suit and stood to wash the two tracking chips again. When he finished, he gently wrapped them in an unused washcloth and replaced it on the hotel rack.

"I think we should go to dinner," Spy said.

Medic crossed his arms, "You're in no condition to go anyvhere."

"Please, I'm fine. I was able to buy myself a suit with no help from you. Besides, you all look as though you could use a decent meal."

* * *

Neil Fairbanks draped a napkin across his lap. Yes…everything about this restaurant he liked. The décor was subtle, wood accents and pale gold upholstery made the atmosphere perfect for dining. Then his waiter so far had been exquisite, always attentive and accurate. However, he'd only ordered, it was yet to be seen if he would continue this behavior.

"And will that be all sir?" The waiter asked.

Neil nodded definitively, "Indeed it will, thank you."

The waiter collected Neil's menu and walked off. From a table along the wall of the restaurant, a tall, thin man dressed in a sharp suit stood and seated himself across from Neil.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," he said.

Neil stared back blankly. What man thought he could take a seat at another man's table? Then again, perhaps it was common in his home country.

"Ah, yes," the man said, "how rude of me. My name is Antoine. I noticed the reserved tab on your table and assumed you must be a man of great importance."

Neil straightened in his chair, "Why yes, I am. My name is Neil Fairbanks, and I am a restaurant critique. See, tonight I'm reviewing this fine establishment."

"A critique? Why, as it would happen, I too am a restaurant critique."

"Really? Oh, do tell, what's it like? Reviewing restaurants in Italy I mean."

Antoine shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "Italy?"

"Why, your home country of course."

"My…you know, I really should be returning to my table. I'll have to pick up the tab latter tonight after all."

Neil placed a hand gently over Antoine's, "No, please, stay. It can be so terribly drab, sitting through these reviews by myself. I'll pay your bills and everything, just stay, please."

Antoine cringed internally, "Well, if you insist, I suppose I have little choice but to take up your offer."

For the nest two hours, Neil asked Antoine questions about two things; the food, and Italy. In reality, the last time he was in Italy, he was assassinating an Italian officer of the Nazi organization. However, for ease of conversation, he wove an intricate tale about an invented pizzeria in Venice that happened to be owned by a friend of his non-existent brother. Finally, the two men finished their final glass of wine and Neil paid for both meals.

Neil smiled excitedly at the man across from him. He didn't really want him to leave. He was excellent company and had impeccable taste in wine selection.

"Are you sure you have to leave?" Neil asked.

"Malhereusment." Antoine replied as he stood.

"Well, it has been fascinating learning about Italy. Do have a good night dear sir."

Antoine nodded and returned to his initial group. From where he sat, Neil could hear the man say, "No, that's definitely not him."

"I thought so," said another of the group, "he's much too, eh, large."

In a southern drawl, the shortest of their group commented, "Heh, it can't be him, he's got too many eyes."

* * *

"Greg, I'm going on my lunch," Connor called to his boss as he walked past his office.

"Okay, just be back by two, you're expected at the sales meeting."

Connor nodded and raced to the lift. Once inside, he pulled out his membership card to the history museum.

Today's the day, he thought.

Letting out a small squeal, Connor bounced in excitement and rushed onto the street in front of his office building. This was the third international exchange exhibit to come to the museum in the past two years and it was promising to be just as good as the King Tut exhibit they'd had the past year.

Connor pulled up to the grand museum front. Thankfully, there was no line and Connor quickly found himself handing his membership proudly to the attendant.

"Here for the American exhibit are you?" The attendant asked.

"Oh yes," Connor replied.

"I'd recommend starting at the east wing and moving left. They've merged the exhibit with the old one rather well."

"Thank you. Oh and," Connor pulled a twenty euro note from his pocket, "this is to pay for whomever is in line behind me. Keep the change for yourself."

The attendant took the note, "Very kind of you sir. Enjoy the exhibit."

Connor smiled and forced himself to walk, instead of run, to the exhibit. At the east entrance, Connor noticed a tour group and slid in amongst the tourists.

"Hello and welcome! My name is Jonathan and I'll be your guide for today."

Connor smiled broadly. Judging by the guide's neutral accent, he was one of the American tour guides, which meant he probably knew loads about the exhibit.

Rather quickly, Connor's prediction proved to be accurate as the guide not only provided in depth information on D-Day, but he presented it in an excited and energetic manner.

"Excuse me," a tourist wearing a loud orange shirt said, "why is the exhibit called Behind Enemy Lines if the primary focus is D-Day?"

"What do you mean?" Jonathan asked.

"I mean, wasn't the purpose of D-Day to break through the German line and create a foothold for allied troops to access the mainland of Europe?"

"A valid point, however, the title for the exhibit was chosen, one, for dramatic purposes and, two, because the battle was fought on grounds under the control of German troops and therefore, behind the main enemy line. Furthermore, the exhibit contains a tribute to a group of men who were captured by Nazi forces mere days after the D-Day attack." Jonathan turned to the group, "In fact, we're approaching that section of the exhibit now. Come, take a closer look."

The group crowded around a wall filled with black and white pictures of soldiers all with their name and a small paragraph next to their photo.

"See," Jonathan said, "this is the unit under the command of General Don Parkin. That man there is Colonel Sebastian Ross and his Second Lieutenant Parker Grieves."

Connor furrowed his brow, "Excuse me, sir, but, did Lieutenant Grieves die?"

"While in Nazi custody, yes. Why do you ask?"

"I'm not really sure, the fellow just seems awfully familiar..."

"Right...ok, moving on! So, over here is..."

Connor hung back from the group and stared at the picture of Parker Grieves.

From just behind Connor, a lone shout rang out. "Hey!" It said.

Connor whipped around to try and find the source of the shout he believed to be directed at him. The exhibit room was empty.

"Hey!" Came the voice again, closer this time.

Connor turned about in confusion to find the shouting man. Slowly, the dark wood walls of the room transformed into trees, leaves and dirt sprouted from the pristine carpet floors and the source of the voice materialized just before him. He was a fairly young man, probably no older than twenty five, dressed in WWII American military fatigues and pointing an automatic rifle right at Connor's chest.

"Hey, you! State your name, rank and country of origin."

"Sargent Jane Doe of the American military." Connor stated.

"Sargent? Where's your unit, who's your commanding officer?"

"I don't have one," Connor replied, "I'm not officially in the military yet."

The other man frowned, "You're not?"

"No sir," Connor said, "They wouldn't have me."

"Why not?" The other man said, finally lowering his gun.

"I'm fifteen sir."

The other man considered the statement. After a moment, he offered his hand to Connor, "Parker Grieves."

Connor apprehensively took Parker's hand, "Jane Doe. I was serious about the name part."

"So, you don't have a unit or troop or...nothin?"

Connor shook his head, "No."

Parker took Connor aside from the small group of men behind him, "Can you shoot a gun?"

Connor nodded.

"Can you follow orders?"

Connor nodded.

"Do you want to be a part of the United States army?"

"Very much so," Connor said.

Parker leaned in closer to Connor, "How's about you join me and my men? I know I'm not supposed to do this, but, we could use some good men like you."

"Really? I...thank you."

"Don't mention it. And uh, hey, mind if I call you Solly?"

Connor frowned, "Why?"

"Because I'm not calling you Jane."

The forest faded and Parker once again became a still picture on the wall. Jane Doe, however, stood in silence. He wasn't really sure what to think. The past few years seemed like a dream, and yet, he knew that wasn't so.

"My name is Jane Doe," he muttered, "I am forty three years old...and, and..."

Jane struggled to find the last absolute. He wasn't really sure of anything else right now. He lived in an apartment, no, a castle...or was it a box? Of course! His favorite sport was football, no, bowling or...baseball?

Jane frowned and concentrated harder. His mind was so jumbled and confused, but he knew he had to get a hold of himself before the memories came back and incapacitated him. No, he wasn't going to let that happen to him again. But, he also knew that he had little time to act. If he couldn't find that last absolute to help stabilize his mind, there was no way he'd survive the rest of the day.

Then, the answer came to him.

"I-I…I am Jane Doe, I am forty three years old and…and…" Jane fought the memories threatening to take control of his mind. H could feel them there, fighting to push to the forefront of his mind and slide into a nearly blissful sleep of remembrance.

"And I am American!" Jane screamed at the top of his lungs. Several visitors of the museum turned to Jane and gave him dirty sideways glances, but the American was oblivious. In fact there was only on thought on his mind after he'd made his announcement; get to America.

Without hesitation, Jane Doe barreled through the remainder of the museum and nearly mowed down an exit attendant.

America, he thought, I have to get to America!

Yet, despite his mad dash, Jane detoured away from wherever he was running and headed back towards the office Connor had worked at. Ignoring the elevator, Jane pounded up the stairs three at a time. His side splitting in pain, Jane burst onto the twenty third floor.

"Connor!" Greg called, "I'm so glad you're back! See, I've got these awful advertising quotes I have to organize and I was hoping…"

Jane's face contorted in rage and he charged Greg.

"Judas!" He screamed as he punched Greg square in the jaw. There was nothing that self-centered Brit deserved more.

Before anyone could react, Jane turned back towards the stairs and fled before the police could show up.

* * *

Character Log

Neil Fairbanks

Location: all over the USA, he travels a lot

Occupation: Restaurant Critique

* * *

**Who could Neil possibly be? And why is he so culturally confused? I suppose we'll have to get to those answers latter. In the mean time, I'm sorry about all the traveling. It needs to happen though, so please tell me if it's getting a bit drab. Also, remember that backstory? Yeah, it's coming up in the next two chapters or so, and I'll tell you what, it is _sad, _but worth reading, trust me! I'm always open for questions/reviews/critiques or suggestions if you have any.**


	8. Friends and Family

From New York, the team had taken a private jet to France. On the way over, Spy had taught Engineer how to fly. Once they'd landed in a small airport outside of Paris, Spy rented a cheap electric car and took the group to a small open-air market...

For a rare day in the winter, the sun was shining. The streets of the market were lined with brightly colored stalls and vendors. All around, people haggled amiably for everything from bread to fruit to freshly butchered turkey. Dell didn't understand a lick of the conversation, but he had Spy to help translate for him.

"Remind me again why we're at a market," Dell said.

"Because," Spy said as he purchased a small wheel of white cheese, "we're going to need food for the next several days if we want to eat."

Dell stared awkwardly at Spy. He still hasn't gotten used to Spy without his mask. His gray hair was cut short and combed neatly back. And for once, hints of expression would flitter across his face, given away by the subtle things like the position of his eyebrows.

A sudden thought crossed the Texan's mind, "Couldn't we just go out?"

"No. The house we're staying in is thirty minutes outside of town. I'm not making that drive every night when I can just cook."

Dell sighed softly. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Spy's cooking, but it was different and he never felt as if he could get enough. To add to his discontent, he didn't even know what half the things they were buying were.

"I think we've got enough," Spy said, "Let's find Miss. Pauling and the doctor."

* * *

Dell, Miss. Pauling and Medic stepped through the door of Spy's house in awe. Sure they'd expected him to have an expensive house, but nothing like the 18th century mansion they'd entered. Just after the oak double doors was a sweeping set of stairs that led to the second floor landing. Each wall was adorned with beautiful paintings and drawings and the floor was an expensive looking white marble.

"Hell Spy," Dell said, "this's a mighty fine place you've got here."

Spy nodded and started off up the stairs. "Indeed," he replied, "Now, there are several rooms upstairs, each marked with where you will be staying. Don't be alarmed, I had a maid tag them while we were at the market."

Spy straightened his suit and tie. Medic noted that there was a sort of vacant look in the Frenchman's eyes. It was almost as if something were missing, or he'd lost something...or someone. Or it was simply how he was reacting to the return of his memory. It would take further observation to know for sure.

"If you'll excuse me," Spy continued, "I have work to attend to."

With that Spy disappeared into the upstairs of the house. Medic took that as his opportunity to explore.

A naturally curious man, Medic had a hard time keeping away from the potential secrets of the house. Once his suitcase was safely upstairs, Medic set off throughout the downstairs. Overall, the decor was impressive, but there was nothing of particular interest. Just a kitchen, library, dining room and entrance hall. However, upstairs proved much more interesting. On the left wing of the building was a room set with a heavy oak door like every other room in the house. The only difference was the name Nicolas painted in intricate red script above the door frame. Medic approached the door and tried the handle. It moved slightly, but the door was ultimately locked.

The German crossed his arms and glared at the door. He wanted to know what was behind the door, and why it had a name printed above it. Medic sighed and took a mental note to investigate the room latter. He proceeded throughout the rest of the upstairs and something hit him; he didn't know anything about Spy. He'd known the man for nine years and yet, he was a complete mystery. He knew more about Dell, who'd joined the Mann team from BLU, then he did about Spy who he'd served on RED with. Every time he had tried to speak with the Frenchman about anything other than work, he was turned away. In fact, Medic was pretty sure that everything aside from blood type had been faked in Spy's medical record. Perhaps that was why he was so determined to snoop through the house. He just wanted to know one thing about his elusive teammate. Then, just as he thought he'd never find any information, he stumbled upon an antique dresser in the unoccupied bedroom.

The drawers of the dresser were delicately carved and set with intricately wrought bronze handles. When he pulled on one of the drawers, the wood squeaked slightly, but otherwise came out smoothly. Inside was a collection of video cassettes labeled with fading white stickers named in intricate black script. Carefully, Medic took out a tape labeled First Step. Off to the side of the room was a dated TV and VCR set. Slowly, he inserted the tape into its player and turned on the TV.

A blue screen showed for a few seconds before a black and white picture came into focus. On screen, a beautiful young woman repositioned what appeared to be a mounted camera towards a grassy field. When she backed away from the camera, a small boy sat in the grass, aimlessly running his chubby hands through the stalks. The woman bent down next to the boy and pointed his attention toward the camera. Gently, she pulled the boy's hand into a wave.

"Allo!" The woman said with a wave, "Nicolas, say hello."

Medic raised an eyebrow, That was Nicolas?

"Allo," the smiling child gurgled.

The woman smiled warmly and set a hand around the boy's shoulder, "So, something happened today and, I thought you might want to see it for yourself."

The woman slowly lifted Nicolas's arms and helped him into a standing position. The boy tottered for a moment before taking several shaky steps and falling to the ground. He smiled up at his mother and she beamed back at him.

"Very good Nicolas! Ok, that's all really. You just needed to see him take some first steps."

The video cut off and Medic sat back a bit from the TV screen. So, Nicolas was a child. Whose, Medic wasn't really sure. He could've been Spy's son, or the son of someone Spy was sent to kill, or someone all together unrelated to Spy.

The video suddenly came back into focus. Nicolas appeared to be several years older and was sitting on a rug before a grand Christmas tree. The woman from the previous video stepped in and sat next to Nicolas. This video was in a form of Technicolor and Medic could see that the boy and mother shared round, caramel colored eyes. However, while the woman had shoulder length blond hair, her son had bowl cut brown hair. The woman looked to someone off screen and gave an exasperated smile.

"Françoir, come over here."

From the left side of the screen, a lean young man with hair matching the boy's in color came into the picture and sat next to the two.

"That's better," the woman said, "now we can start. Ok, ok, bonjour maman, bonjour papa!"

"Bonjour," the man said, giving a wave and smile to the camera.

"Bonjour grandmama, bonjour grandpapa!" Nicolas said happily. His tone was sincere, but his attention was clearly on the presents neatly wrapped beneath the tree.

"So," the woman said, "I know you can't be here, but, I want to give you something to-"

The video cut off abruptly and Medic was left with a black screen. Slowly, he became aware of the presence standing in the doorway. Keeping a neutral expression on his face, Medic turned back to see Spy standing with a remote grasped firmly in his hand. Staring at the Frenchman without a mask, Medic realized how familiar his face looked.

"Who's Nicolas?"

Much faster than Medic would have expected, Spy crossed the room and pressed his knife into Medic's neck.

"What did you see," Spy hissed.

"Is he your son?"

The pressure on the knife faltered for a moment before coming back hard enough to draw blood from the base of Medic's neck. Spy didn't say anything for several minutes. His stare was no longer focused on Medic, but was unfocused on an area over his shoulder. Then, finally, the Frenchman pulled back and lowered his knife.

"You're lucky there's no respawn, or I'd kill you here…. Dig through my things again though, and I might change my mind."

Spy turned abruptly and marched from the room.

* * *

Dell had been making his way back from the bathroom when he noticed the door marked Nicolas stood ajar. He'd made note earlier in the day of the oddity of the marked door, but hadn't thought much of it since then. Now that it was open, he couldn't help but peek his head in for a quick look around.

The first thing that hit him were the murals. Every wall was decorated with intricate, fading murals that depicted everything from lush jungles to wide open skies. In some places, there were small, beautifully done paintings of animals with a matching, but poorer quality, animal alongside it. It looked like a child attempting to copy someone older. They weren't bad so much as the lacked experience. The best one was a small lark that had patterns that well mirrored those of its superior.

The next thing he noticed was the collection of trinkets adorning shelves about the room. The most notable were a jade Buddha statue, a long, snake like dragon cut from emerald, a small, nearly abstract elephant carved from limestone and a stone tablet covered in Aztec patterns. Between those were varieties of notes, postcards, wood figures and music boxes. Atop the large white dresser was a photograph of three people. A smiling young woman, a lean man and a small boy who greatly resembled who Dell could only guess was his father. Each trinket was coated in a thick layer of brown dust.

Then, he noticed Spy. Perched atop the room's only bed, the Frenchman stared vacantly out the bay window adoring the back wall. His face set long and his shoulders were slumped. There were visible bags beneath his eyes and his hands were set gingerly in his lap.

Dell moved cautiously into the room. He wasn't sure if he should be there, or if attempting conversation was the right thing to do, but, he genuinely cared about the team, even someone as cold and indifferent as Spy.

"Howdy," he said softly.

For a moment, Spy's posture tensed as if he were about to lash out, but his energy was gone and he slumped back down. Dell took the risk of siting on the bad alongside Spy. The other man bowed his head and stared at his clasped hands.

Dell mirrored his teammate's position, "Everythin alright?"

Spy took a deep breath. Carefully, he brought his face to a neutral expression, "Have you ever lost someone you love?"

Dell nodded, "Yeah. My daddy died a few years back. He was the last in my family to go."

Spy opened his hands to reveal a folded piece of yellowed paper set in his palms. He unfolded the piece and read the fading words.

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

Dell crossed his arms and turned away from Spy, "It does..." His face softened as he glanced back over his shoulder, "Who'd you lose?"

Spy refolded the piece of paper and placed it on the dusty shelf above. His gaze was still distant and unfocused.

"My wife and son."

"Oh," Dell stood to leave. He didn't think he should be there anymore. Quietly, he made his way to the door.

"Dell," Spy said, his voice small. When Dell turned to him, he realized the other man was on the verge of tears.

"Please," he whispered with a slight choke in his voice, "don't leave."

* * *

It was late at night when Françoir pulled up to the grand entrance of his mansion. He parked his car out front and told himself he'd put it away properly the next day. Suppressing a yawn, he pulled the door key from his pocket and set it in the lock. His mind was a bit foggy from lack of sleep and his most recent assignment. As a result, he opened the door and stepped lazily inside. Once through the threshold, he smiled. He was greeted with a quiet, dark entryway that swept out into a grand staircase. The only light on was a dim yellow light emanating from the kitchen.

The familiarity of it all was comforting. The familiar layout, patterns and smell all put his mind at ease. Then, he heard a faint moan echo through the high ceilings of the building. Warily, his eyes moved from the marble floor to the glass set French doors leading to the backyard. Through the glass, he saw a panicked figure fumbling as it finish silently closing the door. The man's eyes darted about wildly as he searched for possible danger. Whatever the reason for his intrusion, he knew well that his intentions had been malicious.

Françoir locked eyes with the man for a split second before he bolted. Suddenly wide awake, Françoir raced to the back door. Heart racing, he unbolted the door and firmly grasped the knob. Just before he could throw open the door and chase down the intruder, a weak voice called out to him.

"Papa...".

Françoir paled and his heart stopped. With fear tugging at his heart, Françoir turned to the kitchen. There, on the cold, white floor lay his wife. She was spread out gracefully as if her fall had been planned. On her chest was a spreading blotch of red that stood out prominently against her white skin and yellow dress. The husband stood numb at the sight, unsure of what to do.

"Papa..."

Françoir broke his attention from his wife and saw his son, Nicolas, curled up tightly beside his mother. His face was contorted in pain and tears clung to the edges of his eyes. Even in the dark, everything seemed far too bright to Françoir. He could see everything all to clearly. The flecks of blood across his face and hurt in his eyes stood out as clearly as they would have in bright light.

The father bent down next to his son, "Nicolas...Nicolas, what's wrong."

The boy curled up tighter and clutched at his side.

"The bad guys shot us."

Concern darkened the father's pale face.

"Where were you shot?"

Painfully, Nicolas uncurled himself to reveal two bullet wounds logged in his stomach. From the wounds, blood flowed freely to the floor. Beneath him, a substantial pool of blood seeped across his back.

"Papa, it hurts."

Françoir gently brushed back his son's dark hair. It took him a moment to register the reality of the injury. He wanted it to be like make up in a movie; an illusion.

"It looks painful..."

Nicolas nodded shakily, tears slowly falling down his cheeks.

"...Papa...am I going to die?"

Rather suddenly, Françoir well understood what it meant to feel his heart break. He wanted to tell the boy everything would be alright, to tell him there was still hope and that he'd make it through this...but judging by the wound and blood loss, there was no use lying.

"I...you...yes."

Nicolas nodded as if he knew this would be his father's answer, even before the question was asked.

"Papa, do you think I'll go to heaven?" The father cocked his head slightly at the question. The boy elaborated, "I stole a cookie from Janie last week. I don't think God likes that. But, I kinda want to go to heaven so I can be an angel, with maman and watch over you, and have a gold circle and white wings like all the angels in drawings. I don't know if God will forgive me for stealing though."

Ever so gently, Françoir picked up his son so he rested in his father's lap. He didn't know much about religion, but he had to find some way to comfort the boy. He wasn't going to let him go out without at least having a shard of hope to cling to. Then, at least he'd die happy.

"Nicolas, of course you'll go to heaven. God will forgive you and you'll go to heaven, and be an angel with a gold circulate and white wings. You'll be with your mother, and one day, I-I'll join you. And we'll all be a family again, and it will be as if none of this had ever happened... Nicolas?"

In his father's arms, the boy's breathing had stopped and his heart stilled. He lay limp before ever knowing if his father said he'd go to heaven.

* * *

Very slowly, a rapidly aging Mecha Engineer shuffled into the robot control room. It had just returned from inspecting the countless dormant bots that lay in wait for the maker's final stage.

"Permission to speak sir," it creaked.

"Granted," Gray said as he wiped thick black grease from his hands.

The bot stood at attention and focused its glowing blue eyes on its master, "All standbys have been tested successfully. They appear to be functioning properly."

Gray looked about the room with a bored expression plastered on his face. He returned to his work on a new model for the Mecha Engineer.

"What about the respawn enigma?"

The bot shut down for several seconds before rebooting. It beeped and whirred as it loaded its nearly full memory card. Painfully slow, it retrieved its information on respawn.

"No," it finally said, "we have not solved it."

Gray gently massaged his temples. Of course the stupid bots hadn't solved the enigma yet. Most of them could barely operate a can opener, but the Mecha Engineer was supposed to be different. It didn't talk as much as the others, but it was equipped with the best AI technology Gray had. Parts of it were even from designs stolen from Dell's own workshop.

"That will be all," Gray said.

The engineer relaxed its attention position and slowly moved its rusting joints. It had other tasks it was programmed to attend to and did not want to waste its limited time standing about.

Meanwhile, Gray carefully positioned the new engineer's motherboard. He always had a personal Mecha Engineer about his office to help him with his work and perform small tasks. He wished he had the real Engineer at his side. Together, there'd be no stopping their intellectual power.

"I do hope your machines are making exceptional progress on the respawn machine."

Gray stood from his stooped position and turned slowly to the woman sitting at the back of the room, calmly smoking a cigarette. He had to admire her ability to command authority and attention the second she spoke.

"They are working as quickly as they can Helen. If you had gotten a copy of the blueprints like I asked, we wouldn't be in this situation."

Helen glared at Gray and managed to look down on him from her sitting position. She reminded him of a vulture, waiting for its victim to fall so she could reap the rewards of its demise.

"Need I remind you that if you hadn't sent your Spy bot in, my Spy would have delivered the blueprints to me safely. No matter," she said as she brought the tips of her fingers together. A malicious grin began to spread across the administrator's face, "I want them dead Mr. Mann. We can't leave so many witnesses alive."

Gray nodded slowly, "I agree. My term still stands though."

Helen raised a thin eyebrow, "Yes, but he is the only one you may spare. I do hope you're not growing soft."

Now it was Gray's turn to smile maliciously. He looked to a monitor displaying the construction of his latest creations, "Of course not. Trust me, I have a wonderful surprise in store for our rogue mercs."

* * *

Neil Fairbanks strolled casually down a near empty street in Main. He didn't have anywhere to go, and was simply admiring the city before he had to go to work. All around him were mid-sized brick buildings. They weren't really crowded together, but they were much closer than Neil would have preferred. The area overall was nice. There were several shops and cafés where people simply sat around to talk and sip coffee in the frigid, near winter air. Most of the citizens were wearing coats and scarves that filled the dull streets with a variety of vibrant colors. It was a nice change from the drab inner cities he was accustomed to visiting.

Just then, his phone rang and broke the tranquility of the scene. With a sigh, Neil removed the small metal device from his pocket and flicked it open to answer the call.

"Neil!" His manager called from the other end of the line, "Glad I could get a hold of you. I just finished wrapping up some loose ends with Danney's and they're all set and ready for your arrival. If you head over there now, you'll still be able to catch their lunch menu. Call me when you're done and bon appetite!"

At that, the manager hung up and Neil was smiling broadly. He'd been wanting to review Danney's for a while now, but actually getting in to do it was more difficult than Neil had anticipated. Thankfully, Jeff was the best manager Neil had ever had. He never failed to get Neil where he wanted to review, even if the place was supposed to be impossible to get into. So, Neil set off down the avenue towards where he knew the restaurant was. He didn't walk very fast, he was never in any hurry, so he had plenty of time to watch the people on the streets as he went along. There were a surprising number of families out and about. They flittered in and out of shops and admired the local scenery. Children darted between bystanders and objects, their world an adventure. Parents kept them in line ever so just to ensure they didn't disrupt those around them.

As he was walking, Neil became so concerned with the other side of the street that he forgot to properly watch where he was going. In consequence, he ran straight into an aging black woman.

"Oi!" She screamed in an Irish accent, "What teh bloody hell do you think you're doin? Can't ya see I'm walkin here?"

Neil stood and frantically attempted to correct his mistake before the woman could hit him with the cane she was waving about. "I'm so sorry ma'am. I didn't mean to run into you. But, to be fair, you weren't watching where you walk either."

The woman brought herself up to her full, stooped height, place one hand on her hip and held her cane height in the air, "Oh I wasn't watchin where I was goin, ya laddy? You must be somethin thick," she said, gesturing to the dark sunglasses she wore, "I'm blind!"

"Oh, ma'am, I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't know. I couldn't really tell through those glasses. And, I mean, you're just so old I figured…"

Violently, the woman smacked Neil across the back of the head hard enough to knock the glass eye from his skull.

"My eye!" he exclaimed. He watched in horror as the small object fell to the ground and rolled across the ice dusted ground into a drainage pipe.

"You're eye?" the woman asked, "I hitcha in teh back o teh head, that's nowhere near yer eye."

Neil huffed and stamped his foot on the ground, "It was a glass eye you old twit. I was born with only one eye!"

The woman stopped her angered flailing and gently took Neil's hand. "I'm sorry laddy, I didn't mean ta. See, I don't have either eye, so you've got one up on me."

Neil sighed, "Yeah, no demoman worth his sulfer ever had an eye in his head past thirty."

Neil paused and bit the end of his tongue. Where had that come from? More importantly, what did it even mean?

The woman seemed to notice the odd statement as well and turned her head towards the source of Neil's voice. Her tone was more quizzical than scolding when she asked, "What was that laddy?"

"Nothing," Neil said quickly. He didn't want to embarrass himself more than he already had in the conversation.

"No, no, I specifically hear ya say demoman...wait...Tavish?"

"What, no. I'm Neil. Neil Fairbanks."

A broad smile broke out across the woman's face, "Oh Tavish, I never thought I'd find ya! When Miss. Pauiling said ya'd lost yer memory, I thought I'd lost ya forever, but I was wrong! Tell me, do ya still have a job?"

Neil rolled his eyes, "Yes mum, I have a job. I'm an international demo critique from Mann Dining."

Neil frowned. A nagging sensation appeared at the back of his mind. It was as if he was telling the truth about himself, but only half of it. Somehow, even though he'd never met his mother, Neil knew this was the lady. Then, there was that word again, demo. It was short for demolitions, but why would that be important? He'd never demolished anything in his life, well, unless he counted his eating of a twelve layer chocolate cake.

"Tavish, I have no idea what yer talkin about. Last ye talked to me, you were workin for some Mann company an takin up the family trade as a demoman!"

Neil nodded contently. Demoman. That sounded about right.

"Yes," he said as a bit of his accent began to return to his voice, "yes, yer right! Mum!" he exclaimed as memories began to flood his mind. Good, solid, proper memories began to replace the faded facade of Neil. He remembered Scotland and ol Nessie and Merasmus.

"Mum! Mum! I remember ya! An I remember Da and everyone! Mum, I'm sorry I've been gone mum. I've been spendin my life as this fat, lazy critique. An I couldn't tell the difference between Italy and France and….oh no...Spy."

Tavish nearly collapsed from the realization. He'd talked to Spy. And Engineer and Medic and Miss. Pauling had all been there that night at dinner, and he'd missed them! He'd let his one chance at getting his proper self back walk out the door. Now he was standing in the middle of Maine with his mother, his memory and no clue of what to do next.

"Mum, I made a terrible mistake... I have to get the team back."

His mother raised an eyebrow, "Ya mean those nice men ya used to work with? Yah, that'd be good. I think Miss. Pauling said somethin about all o them havin the same problem you had."

"I know mum," Tavish said as he began to pace back and forth on the sidewalk, "That's why I have to get them back. We've got ta go after Gray Mann. He's the one who's done this to us."

"Now, that's teh spirit! In the mean time, we need ta find you a job."

* * *

**Note: this chapter is the longest single chapter I've written for anything ever. That combined with a brief writers block and having to get that scene in the middle just right, made this chapter take longer than I expected. I should be faster with 8, but I promise nothing! Thank you again for reading this far and, as always, I'm open to reviews/comments/criticism!**


	9. Driving, and Other Transportation Issues

If anyone asked about last night, it didn't happen. Or at least, that's what Dell would say.

No one else had been there when he'd slowly closed and locked the door. No one else had seen the Frenchman breakdown completely and murmur uncontrollably between quiet sobs. Only Dell had been there. After Spy had begun to calm down, he made Dell swear never to tell another living soul. When the two had finally gone off to bed, Dell had thought it might be difficult to keep the secret. He thought Spy would still be shaky and fragile in the morning, but now, the Frenchman was arguing loudly with a man who was supposed to be in charge of Spy's car while he wasn't in France.

"I don't think you quite understand, there is no way you simply _lost_ my car."

The other man held up his hands defensively, "Look, Monsieur, I was simply taking it out for a drive when..."

"You drove it?" Spy took a deep breath to compose himself and lowered his voice, "Did I authorize you to drive it?"

"Well, I"

"Did I. Authorize you. To drive it?"

The man pursed his lips and stared at the ground. With his foot, he kicked aside a loose rock from the asphalt. "No Monsieur."

Spy cast a disapproving look down at the shorter man, "Now we've sorted that out, where is my car?"

The man lowered his voice to a cowering whisper, "While I was out driving, I pulled up to the stoplight on Saint Joseph and..." the man clasped his hands behind his back, "Two men opened the door, forced me out of the car and drove away."

Spy closed his eyes momentarily before responding, "You forgot to lock the doors?"

"Yes," the man squeaked.

Spy turned away from the man and whipped a small, silver phone from his pocket. "Get out of my sight," he snarled at the man.

The man paled and scurried away.

"I recommend you explore the local area, it may be some time before I can acquire another car."

Medic, Dell and Pauling looked around for a moment before realizing Spy was speaking to them.

"Good," Miss. Pauling said, "call when you're done. Come on boys, let's go get some croissants."

Medic and Dell nodded and the trio left the small garage. They walked down the narrow street slowly. While Miss. Pauling seemed on edge, Medic and Dell moved more like relaxed tourists. Medic especially took his time to examine his surroundings. He still felt as though he was in a daze, even days after he'd had his memory back, bits of Ted still lingered in his mind. He caught himself thinking about camera angles, casting and crew that would work well for a movie set in the French streets. As his mind wandered, he moved his hand up to stroke Archimedes. The little bird helped keep him grounded in reality. That and the über formula he'd been creating in his free time.

His thoughts on the über and gaze on the shops along the street, Medic caught a glimpse of a man who looked oddly familiar sitting at a café reading the newspaper. Medic blinked and looked back at the café. "Vait," he told the group.

Dell stopped alongside Medic, "What's wrong pardner?"

Medic didn't respond and started crossing the street. Several cars honked at the man bee lining through traffic. Dell shrugged and jogged after his teammate. When he and Pauling caught up, they found Medic scowling at a man sitting at a café, nervously checking his watch.

Medic gestured to the man, "Does he look familiar?"

Dell shifted around Medic to get a better look at the man, "Not really. What're ya getting at doc?"

"Stay here. I'm going to speak vith him. Don't vorry, I know French."

Dell and Pauling shrugged simultaneously. Dell looked over the man a little closer. He was extremely tall with a wide frame and low muscle mass. The brown hair on his head sat awkwardly atop his head like a wig and glasses were perched on the edge of his nose to read the paper.

Medic engaged the man quickly and pulled the newspaper down from the man's view. At first, Medic wore a smile on his face, but as the conversation went on, his expression changed from enthusiastic to irritation. Despite his clear frustration, Medic continued the conversation and soon returned to his group toting the man from the café.

"Allo," the man said, "my name is Jaques Million," he turned to Miss. Pauling, "And you must be Mrs. Hart. Pleasure to meet you madam."

Miss. Pauling nodded, "Pleasure to meet you too."

"Nice ta mettcha. My name's Dell."

Jaques smiled and ignored Dell, "Why thank you. Your friend has already informed me that you are ready for the tour. If you'd come with me, I live above that shop there."

Jaques took Miss. Pauling's hand and led her towards a small art studio.

Medic leaned closer to Dell, "I think zhat's Heavy, but he's not like himself."

Dell snapped his head to face Medic, "_That's_ Heavy?"

"You believed Andy was Spy."

"Yeah, but, he looked right. Jaques doesn't. How do ya know you're right?"

Fluorescent light flashed across Medic's glasses as they entered the studio, "I don't."

Jaques looked over his shoulder at the two mercenaries, "Come up here, you _must_ see my latest work."

The duo shuffled closer to see an array of abstract paintings adorning the back wall of the studio.

Jaques gestured to a painting at the center, "This here is one of my best pieces. It took me a long time to finish, but it was worth it, wouldn't you say?"

Medic crossed his arms, "Yes, zhat's all vell and good, but have you ever been to Russia?"

"Russia? No. I think the best aspect of my work is in the bold accent lines. They really bring out the emotion of the piece and emphasize the most important aspects. My godness this is beautiful."

"Right," Medic said, a scowl spreading across his face, "if you're done impersonating Herr Scout, be can focus on something zhat matters."

Jaques glared at Medic, "Scout? I... So, Mrs. Hart, which piece do _you_ like best?"

Miss. Pauling looked at the art, "Uhh, I think-"

"Sash's been cheating on you vith Soldier."

Jaques raised a manicured eyebrow at Medic, "Monsieur, I don't know what kind of sick disease you have, but I have to ask you to leave my studio."

Medic walked up to Jaques and jabbed a finger into his chest, "Nein _Misha_, I'm not going to leave zhe studio because it is not _your_ studio."

"No Monsieur, it is my studio and I'm asking you to leave before I call the police."

Medic groaned and paced once in a small circle. He threw his hands in the air then turned swiftly to Jaques. "Ugh, vhy can't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

Medic reeled back and slammed his fist into Jaques's chest.

Jaques made a prominent _oof_ noise and staggered back a few steps. He looked taken aback, but made no attempt to fight the doctor.

Dell grabbed Medic's arm, but was violently thrown to the floor.

"Everything!" Medic yelled, "Vhy can't you remember me?"

He punched Jaques again in the same place, "Or Russia?"

Another punch.

"Or Zhannah?"

Two successive punches, "Or your mother."

Between every word, Medic threw another hard punch to Jaques's chest, "Or zhe gulag, or RED or BLU or zhe über or your real life? Dammit, I. Need. My. Test. Subject!"

Medic charged Jaques and slammed his head against Jaques's sternum. Breathing heavily, Medic stared at the floor as he waited for Jaques's answer.

Several silent minutes passed as no one moved or spoke. Then, Jaques's arms moved up to encase Medic's head in a gentle bear hug.

"Is doktor feeling better now?"

* * *

Tavish Finnegan DeGroot sped down an interstate highway with his mother knitting alongside him. She may have been blind, but she could make some of the best scarves Tavish knew of. He smiled at the thought. One year, she'd insisted on making a red scarf for each member of the RED team. She said she only did it because no one can work when they're sick. Yet, even as they fought Gray's army, the old members of RED would pull out the thick wool scarves and wear them when the weather was cold.

"Tavish."

"Yes mum?"

Mrs. DeGroot set her knitting in her lap, "Do ya know what time it is?"

"One thirty three mum."

"No," she said, "it's _lunch_ time. Pull over at teh first place that looks good."

Tavish rolled his eye and scanned the road ahead for somewhere to eat. Unfortunately, he'd just hit a string of gas stations and historic sites. Nearly twenty minutes later, the Golden Arches of a McDonalds rose above the highway.

Tavish sighed in relief and pulled into the small parking lot. The ground crunched beneath as he walked around the car to help his mother.

"It's about time we stopped, I was practically starving in that car."

Tavish held open the surprisingly well-oiled door for his mum, "Don't worry mum, there's food right inside."

A line of customers waited for their orders to be taken. Tavish walked to the back of the line and took a moment to look around. Despite the deteriorating exterior, the interior of the restaurant was clean and well kept. White and red tiled walls gleamed alongside chrome lined tables and chairs. Behind the counter, red shirted workers bustled about, trying to fill orders as fast as possible.

"Welcome to McDonalds, may I take your order?"

Tavish snapped his attention back to a young man wearing a headset and a dark gray shirt, "What? Huh? Oh, I want a...a..."

Tavish glared harder at the man taking his order. His smile was fake, but his face was familiar. Something about the energy in his eyes and slight bounce as he stood seemed like something Tavish had seen before.

"Might I suggest a number one? The Big Mac is a guaranteed win."

Tavish quickly noted the name on the man's shirt; Rick. "Oh, yeah, one a those. Actually, make that two. With coke, an some chocolate chip cookies."

"Ok, so, that's two number ones with coke and three chocolate chip cookies." The man bit his lower lip as he tallied up the order total, "That'll be eleven fifty four."

Tavish handed over his debit card, the man took his money and gave him an order number. Tavish took the receipt and made his way to the table his mum sat at. Halfway to the table, Tavish realized that he _did _know the man behind the counter. Quickly, he turned on his heels and approached the now empty food line.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir," Rick said, "I forgot to give you your drinks."

Tavish waved off the man's offer, "That's all fine and good, but what are ya doin workin at a McDonalds?"

Rick frowned, "I, well, it was a very good first job and I suppose it just…"

"No, I mean, why are ya workin here?"

Rick shook his head and backed away from Tavish, "I'm sorry sir, but I really do have to get back to work. It is fast food after all."

He turned quickly away and busied himself with filling orders.

"Scout," Tavish called, "don't go."

Rick stopped bagging a meal and looked back to Tavish, "Scout?" He walked forward and placed his elbows on the counter between he and Tavish, "Say, do I know you from somewhere?"

"Yeah, we used to work together."

Rick took off his baseball cap and headset, "We did, dint we…It was someplace red wasn't it. Like an Office Depot or something. Man, now this is gonna bug me, I just can't place you in my memory."

"Like ya used to know, but now ya don't."

Rick nodded, "Exactly. I-I'll talk to you if I remember anythin."

Tavish nodded once and returned to the table his mum sat at.

"Did ya get the drinks?"

Tavish nearly slapped himself in the face for his forgetfulness, "No mum."

"Well then go back an get em."

Tavish sighed and looked back to the counter. Just as he made his way to return to the counter for the third time, Rick went rigid. The young man twitched violently, then looked around, concerned. He spun in a quick circle, spotted Tavish and jumped over the counter. He sprinted the short distance and stopped right before Tavish.

"Demo?"

"Ack, Scout, yer back."

Scout stepped back and gestured proudly to himself, "Like hell I'm back. Man, I am so _done_ with this stupid fast food place. And Rick, that guy's a loser."

Scout bounced up and down for a few seconds before collapsing. Tavish lunged forward and grabbed Scout before he hit the ground.

Tavish looked around the restaurant. Nearly all eyes were on him. Tavish did his best to ignore the watchers and hoisted Scout over his shoulder. He brought him to the booth with his mother and set him down on the worn plush seat. Tavish propped up his teammate and went back to wait for his food.

* * *

Soldier returned briefly to Connor's house before starting his trek to America. He grabbed a small sleeping bag sack from a closet and stuffed it full of canned food, money and clothing. He slung the full bag over his shoulder and took one last look around the two room apartment. All he could think to himself was that Connor's short existence had been sad. The man had spent most of his time reading books about world history and finishing his colleagues work at the office. He'd never really had any friends and worst of all, he'd never been to America.

"America," Soldier muttered, "I'm coming home, I promise."

"Are you Soldier?"

Soldier snapped his head up to find the spirit of George Washington standing above him.

"Because where I'm standing, it looks as though your lolly gagging."

Soldier's eyes widened, "You're right!" As fast as he could, he charged down the apartment hall and onto the busy London street outside. "America, I'm coming home!"

To conserve energy, Soldier switched to a light jog. There had to be some way to get to America. His first thought was of a boat. It would work, but America would be easier to get to over land. Then, he thought of taking an airplane. However, he was probably too American to pass British customs. Plus, he didn't really like flying if he wasn't the one at the controls.

Then, it hit him. Or rather, he hit it. In his concentration, Soldier forgot to look where he was going and slammed face first into a station marker for the London Underground. On impact, Soldier recoiled and fell to the ground.

"Why you good for nothing maggot," Soldier grumbled as he jabbed his pointer finger at the marker, "If you were a man I'd shove my boot so far up your ass they'd have to, oh." Then, Soldier remembered what the marker was for. It was the station name for an underground train thing Connor had taken a couple of times to get around the city. Though Connor had never took the train to America, trains were very American and Soldier was sure the vehicle could take him there.

Soldier picked himself up off the ground and gently patted the steel marker, "I'm sorry pole, you were only trying to help. Next time, try not to hurt me in the process."

Soldier saluted the marker and marched down the escalator. Once he reached the bottom, he rushed to the turnstile just before boarding the train.

"Ticket please," the turnstile attendant said.

"Ticket? This is the only ticket I need," Soldier threw a stack of money at the attendant and jumped the turnstile. Just before the doors to the train slid shut, Soldier jumped aboard and took a seat for the ride to America.


	10. Support

**One day I will rename these chapters so they make more sense...**

**I also want to take a moment to thank all my reviewers and everyone who's followed/favorite this story, you all are awesome!**

* * *

**RUSSIA; 1951**

Like most days in the Russian tundra, it was snowing. The flakes fell lightly onto the ground and created earthbound clouds across the trees and landscape. Tucked away at the edge of a forest was a large, log cabin style mansion whose brown exterior and white roof blended with the surroundings. Smoke trailed lazily from the chimney of a lit, stone fireplace.

Inside the house, a large Russian man sat in a chair before the fire and browsed through a collection of Russian literature. A pair of reading glasses were perched delicately on the end of his nose and his eyes moved slowly across the page; taking in every word. Behind him, a small girl crept up to the back of the chair and peered around its edge.

"Boo!" She said.

The man turned to face the girl with a smile on his face, "Hello Zhanna. Is there something you need?"

The girl giggled and climbed up onto her brother's arm, "Yes. I want to go outside and play in the snow."

Misha turned his attention out the window to see the snow falling lazily to the earth, "It will be cold outside."

"I know," Zhanna said, "but I want to go and play. We never get to go outside."

Misha sighed. It was true, Zhanna and her sisters never really had a chance to go out and play, but it was for their own safety. Both he and his mother were worried that someone would come along to take them all back to the gulag.

"Okay, we can go outside. But, we will not go far from the house, ok?"

"Ok," Zhanna said.

Misha stood from the chair and set Zhanna on the ground. The girl was already dressed in a heavy down jacket and pants, so it only took a moment for Misha to put on his own coat and garb a shotgun form the rack. Together, the siblings made their way out the front door and into the snow.

Compared to most days, it wasn't all that cold outside. Zhanna instantly took off, leaving indented white trails in her wake. Misha smiled and shook his head. She was always so full of energy. Just like her sisters, she was eager to explore and discover the world. He, on the other hand, was content with his books and pondering philosophy by the fire late into the night.

In her frolicking, Zhanna rolled snow into balls, tossed it about, caught fresh flakes on her tongue and rolled around in the frozen water like most children would in a pile of leaves. Misha watched the surroundings for potential danger and kept an especially close eye on the woods backing up to their house. Soon, Zhanna tired of the reoccurring area and wandered over the crest of a small hill. Misha clutched his shotgun and followed her over.

"Misha!" she called before he'd reached the hill's peak, "Misha, come here! I found something."

Misha hurried through the thickening snow in case the find turned out to be a threat. To his relief, the girl was simply bent next to the ground, examining something. She looked back at him and pointed at the object.

"Look Misha."

Misha trudged over to the spot and bent down to investigate. In the snow, a brown patch of rough fabric stuck out sharply in the white fluff. Misha brushed away the snow with his glove and jumped back quickly when the fabric moved. Holding his shotgun with one hand and brushing off snow with the other, he uncovered a man in a brown uniform lying face down in the ice. On his right arm was a cross signifying him as a medic and on his left arm was a bright red Nazi swastika. Misha immediately stood and pushed Zhanna away from the man. He waited for the man to move, but he made no attempt. The man moaned and Misha realized he was barely breathing. A pang of sympathy rang out in the Russian's heart and he lowered his gun.

"Who's that Misha?" Zhanna asked.

Misha picked up the freezing man and slung him over his shoulder. The man wheezed slightly in response to the action.

"He needs our help," Misha said.

Zhanna nodded and trailed behind her brother as he made his way back to the house.

Once inside, Misha ordered Zhanna to go off and play while he dealt with the stranger. He brought the man to the kitchen and laid him on the dining table.

"Misha," his mother called, "is that you? Is everything alright I-"

She caught sight of the man on the table and gasped. "Misha! What...who is this?"

"I found him in the snow, he is nearly dead."

The mother eyed the band on the man's uniform, "We can't keep him here. They'll find us, or worse, he'll kill us."

Misha looked over at the man. He knew the risk of having him here, but he couldn't just let him freeze to death.

"We should kill him," the mother said.

Misha pointed to the medical cross on his arm, "No mother, we should keep him. Perhaps we can get him to set Yana's arm in exchange for his life."

"Mmh, okay. But don't you dare let him out of your sight."

Misha nodded and his mother went off to fix stew. On the table, the man stirred.

"H-hello?"

Misha raised an eyebrow at the man. He hadn't expected him to know Russian.

"Hello?" He repeated. He caught sight of Misha and recoiled weakly, "Where am I?"

"You're in my house," Misha said.

"Oh...am I dead?"

Misha shook his head, "No."

The man smiled and sat up weakly. His eyes moved about the room as he took in his surroundings.

"This is a very nice house."

Misha nodded, "Yes, it is. Why were you in the snow?"

The man looked down at his soaked coat, "I was running away from something. I got lost and, now I'm here. My name is Viktor Klauss, by the way."

"Misha," he said, pointing to himself, "You're a doctor, yes?"

Viktor glanced at the medic's symbol on his arm, "Yes, I am."

"Good. I need you to fix the arm of my sister. It is broken."

Viktor stood unsteadily from the table, "I can fix it... You know, I'm not actually a Nazi. My father gave me this coat to stay warm. And he said the medical cross is so people will be less likely to shoot at me."

"Good," Misha said, "it gives me less reason to kill you. Now come, you need to do your job."

* * *

Misha sat reading by the fire with Viktor reading alongside him. The German moved slowly through the book so he could properly pick up on the words.

"If you'd like, I can take you to the city tomorrow," Misha said.

Viktor eyed Misha from over the edge of his book. "The city? I...I don't know about the city. Do I have to go back?"

Misha turned the page of his book and readjusted his glasses, "You don't want to?"

"Nein," he whispered, "I don't want to. My father would not be happy with my failed return."

"What do you mean?"

Viktor bit the edge of his lip, "Well, just before I left, I was working on this project and it failed. I was sent out here to get a component of the experiment, sap from some tundra fir...I don't want to return a failure."

Misha nodded. He didn't necessarily understand the pride aspect, but he could see how that could affect the other man.

"You could stay here. After all, you did help our family."

"Really? I can? This is perfect. I'll be able to start over on my research and everything. Oh, there's so much to do."

Misha raised his eyebrow slightly, "What research?"

Viktor shot from his chair and set his book gently on the side table, "Research for a project that will change the world..." His expression darkened, "Research that would be completed," his fists clenched, "if it weren't for a good for nothing," he attacked the side table, smashing the wood frame with a violent blow.

Misha rose to his feet and moved toward Viktor.

Viktor darted away and attacked the bookshelf. He tore at the wood and ripped books from the shelf, "if it weren't for that backstabbing snake piece of shit! I!"

"Doctor," Misha said, "stop destroying things!"

Viktor punched the wall hard enough to crack the wood, "It was my father who told me to experiment on an assassin. Keep a member of the Resistance around the lab! It'll be /fine/."

"Viktor," Misha said as he grabbed Viktor's shoulders, "hit me."

Viktor paused for a moment, then took out all his rage on the massive Russian. Every few blows, Misha would stagger back a bit only to step forward and hold his ground again against the unrelenting force of the doctor. Eventually, Viktor did calm down and rest his head on Misha's chest.

Steadily, Misha wrapped his arms around the heavily breathing Viktor. "Do you feel better now?"

* * *

**PARIS; present day**

Medic pulled back out of Heavy's embrace, "Danke Herr Heavy."

"Is not problem Doktor." Heavy looked around at the others in the room, "Miss. Pauling, why are you here?"

Miss. Pauling smiled, "We're getting the team back together."

"Rest of team does not know who they are, like Heavy did?"

Medic nodded, "Ja. Ve have Spy as vell, but who you see here is who ve have."

"I see," Heavy rubbed his temple, "I am not feeling well."

Medic shuffled alongside his friend, "Don't vorry, it's just zhe after effects of getting your memory back. It vill go avay soon."

Miss. Pauling heard her phone ring and stepped aside to take the call.

"Hello?" she said.

Spy's voice came through clearly, "There's been a change of plan. I'm going to pick up our equipment before I meet up with you again."

"We have Heavy."

"...You found him? I'll have to...never mind. You should plan to eat in the city tonight, I won't be back for quite some time. Do you have money?"

Miss. Pauling pursed her lips, "We'll figure something out."

Spy sighed lightly and hung up the line.

"Finished with your personal call?"

Spy turned back to his old colleague, "Indeed, now, about my car..."

"Yes," the man said, "that. As it would be, we do have your vehicle in our custody. As for your equipment request? We can fill that too. However, there are a few, _complications_."

Spy raised an eyebrow, "Complications?"

The man leaned forward, placed his elbows on the desk and neatly clasped his hands, "It's been over two years since you've done anything for the Guild, Thief. We can't exactly trust you anymore."

"I've been a member my whole life and suddenly you can't trust me?"

The man shrugged, "Look, it would be fine except that you disappeared without notice or explanation. It seems fishy to us. But, I will give you one chance to redeem yourself," he slid a file folder across the desk to Spy, "Show me you're still an asset, then we'll talk business."

Spy opened the folder. Quickly, his eyes scanned the information within, "I'll do it."

The man gave Spy a sideways smile, "Good. Let's hope you're still who you used to be _Asashin_"

* * *

"Please, just give us five more minutes."

The waiter glared down at Miss. Pauling, "Fine Madam, but this is the _last_ five minutes."

Miss. Pauling smiled broadly until the waiter walked away. She sighed heavily and laid her head on the table.

The restaurant had long since cleared out. Waiters and waitresses bustled about, trying to clean up before closing. The only reason the team had been allowed to stay was because Miss. Pauling had given all of Jaques money to the restaurant.

Medic and Heavy were fast asleep on the cushioned booth. Both had passed out immediately after dinner and hadn't moved since. Engineer had been working on his phone, but was beginning to drift off.

Miss. Pauling groaned, "Where's Spy?"

"Right behind you."

Miss. Pauling and Dell perked up to find Spy standing in the dim light of the closing eatery.

Miss. Pauling sat back and crossed her arms, "What took you so long."

Spy slid into the booth next to Heavy, "There were some...complications."

Miss. Pauling sighed, "Spy, what happened."

Spy leaned closer to the table, "I had to eh, take care, of a certain _Capo Bastone_ for an old friend of mine."

"Oh..._oh_."

Spy nudged Heavy awake, "We should go... Come, the car's parked out front."

Heavy picked up the sleeping Medic and the group made their way outside. The dark streets in front of the restaurant were void of people. Along the curb, a variety of cars were parked neatly bumper to bumper. Of the cars, the largest on the street was a bright red sports car. Spy moved towards the car and took his place in the front seat. Miss. Pauling took up the passenger's place while the remaining three slipped into the back seat.

Waiting for them on the dark leather seats was an array of weapons suited for the three classes.

Dell picked up a silver barreled shotgun with a carved wood stock. He weighed the weapon in his hand. It was much nicer than anything Mann Co. had ever sold to him, "Hell Spy, where'd ya get these?"

The car's engine roared to life, "I have a certain set of contacts that fabricate _specialized_ weaponry."

Heavy stroked the edge of his steel plated minigun, "Is much better than terrible gun Mann Co. tried to sell. Brass Beast is powerful, but does not last long."

"Indeed. However, Natasha should suit your needs just as well as Sasha did."

Heavy smiled and set the gun on the floor of the car, "Yes, Heavy will kill many robots with this."

* * *

Jackie fell flat on his back into the clean cut grass. The edges of his vision blurred and made the white clouds above smudge together. His legs were numb and his heart hammered quickly in his chest. He flicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The metallic taste of iron greeted his taste buds.

"Ya aren't gonna accomplish anythin just lyin there."

Jackie glared up at his older brother "What would you know Ronald?"

Ronald grabbed Jackie's hand and hoisted him to his feet, "Trust me, it's gonna get better. Ya just gotta run one more heat."

Jackie looked around at the other runners. Most of them seemed up and ready for the next race. They were cool and energized, not hot and exhausted like Jackie.

"I can't do it," Jackie mumbled.

Ronald turned his brother's shoulders so they stood face to face, "That's not true."

"C'mon Ronald, these guys are in way bettah shape than me."

Ronald shrugged, "So? You made it to the final heat. You're just as good as them, bettah even. I don't care what kinda shape they're in, you're way more determined."

"I dunno..."

Ronald looked Jackie in the eye, "Hey, you can do it. Now, get out there and kick some ass!"

Jackie smiled weakly. He wasn't exactly sure how much ass kicking he'd be doing.

A whistle blew and six boys lined up at the starting line. Jackie adjusted his starting block, then dug his cleats into the metal and asphalt. From his crouched position, he breathed deeply in preparation for the race. He could feel others warming up beside him, but his gaze was focused on the track ahead.

The whistle beeped two times in rapid succession. Each runner crouched in their starting block.

The referee stood by the edge of the track, "On your mark."

Jackie tensed. His heart raced. He had to keep his breathing steady.

"Get set."

Jackie got into a starting position. His muscles tightened. Sweat trickled along his hairline. He caught sight of Ronald near the finish line. The older brother flashed the younger a quick thumbs up.

"Go!"

The starting gun sounded and Jackie charged from his starting block. Right from the start, his lungs burned. He ignored the pain, he had to do this.

_Just two hundred meters_ he told himself.

He was lagging in the middle. He needed to be up front. He willed his legs to run harder. The hard asphalt radiated heat. It felt as though he was running on fire. Jackie focused on the heat. His body screamed for him to stop, he ignored it. Then, fifty meters before the finish line, he felt himself start to give up.

"C'mon Jackie!" Ronald screamed, "You can do this! Fiddy more meters, don't give up!"

Jackie looked at the finish with a new sense of drive. He couldn't disappoint his brother. There was no way he was going to give up now, not after Ronald had gotten him through to the end. He had to win, for Ronald. Jackie gathered all his remaining strength together. With a small yell, he flew across the track to the finish.

Heart pounding painfully against his ribs, Jackie slowed to a stop. Immediately, he doubled over to catch his breath. Black spots swam across his vision.

Robert ran over and pulled Jackie into a hug, "You did it man! You won by two seconds! I knew you could do it."

Jackie beamed and allowed himself to pass out in his brother's arms...

Jackie awoke slowly to find himself sitting in the back of a small rental car. Up front, Demo drove while his mother slept on the passenger's side. Scout rubbed his eyes and peered out the window. Neon signs and street lamps flashed before his eyes. The onslaught of motion made his head spin, forcing him to turn away.

"Ahy, Scout, yer awake."

Scout blinked lazily at Demo, "Yeah."

"How are ya feelin?"

Scout inhaled slowly, "Pretty, uh, pretty good."

"Good that..."

Scout furrowed his brow. There was something he wanted to talk about, "I had this weird dream."

Demo shifted in the driver's seat, "Ahy?"

"It was like one of my memories, like when I was a kid, ya know?"

Demo nodded, "I know what yer talkin about. When I first got me memory back, I had one o them memory dreams."

Scout picked at the loose threads of the back seat. It hadn't occurred to him that Demo had lost his memory too, "Whaddid you remember?"

Demo smiled wryly, "You go first, lad."

Scout groaned, "Fine. I was runnin a race as kid and I won. It was actually pretty great. I was in first the whole time and when I won, the crowd was cheerin my name. They were all, you're the best Scout! And I was all, yeah! Man, that was a good race."

Demo sighed. If only his memory had been so nice, "I remembered me da. He came home from his last job of the day an sat down with me mum and I for dinner. We were laughin and talkin all night...about stupid stuff, like the Loch Ness monster...and mediocre wizards..."

"Sounds nice," Scout whispered.

The two men sat in a silence broken only by the occasional snore from Demo's mom.

Scout's leg bounced uncontrollably. He didn't like the emptiness the silence left behind.

Carefully, he peered around the edge of the seat at Demo. A cheeky smile spread across his face, "Hey yo bagpipes, when'd ya get so fat?"

Demo glared briefly behind him, "Oi! I've been a bloody food critique for two years. It's not my fault."

Scout reclined into the fabric seats, "Yeah, yeah, whatever makes ya feel bettah."

Demo groaned and laid his head temporarily on the steering wheel. This was going to be a long ride.

* * *

**Ok, it took me a long time to come out with chapter 8, but, for one reason or another, I've had a sudden surge of ideas for this story (no joke, I'm half way done with 10 already). Just wanted to share that. Thank you all for reading this far!**


	11. Mobilize

**I've got so many ideas for these chapters I can't write them fast enough! Also, we're coming close to wrapping up...all that pesky traveling/road tripping. Thanks again for the reviews/follows/favs/reading this far!**

* * *

"They're regrouping."

Helen snuffed a cigarette in the ash tray in the monitor room. She flicked a stray ash from her sleeve, "And?"

Gray leaned closer to the set of monitors tracking the mercs, "And, they're probably getting their memory back. I wasn't expecting it to take so long to decipher respawn. I only designed the devices to last two years."

Helen walked briskly up to Gray. Quickly, her eyes scanned the monitors. After spending years of watching the RED vs BLU battles, she'd learned to pick up information from screens as quickly as possible.

On the center console, three groups of two red dots were congregated in France, New York and Georgia. Two dots stood alone, one in Louisiana and the other in Northern Mexico.

Gray tapped the dots in France, "That's Heavy and Soldier. There, on Long Island is Spy and Medic. The traveling two are Demoman and Scout..."

"Sir."

Gray and Helen turned to find the rusting Mecha Engineer leaning against the back wall of the control room.

"What is it?" Gray snapped.

"We have solved it."

Gray cocked his head slightly, "Solved it? Solved wha-oh! You're certain?"

The Engineer beeped, "Yes."

Gray walked behind the Mecha Engineer and yanked its memory card from its head. The bot looked about the room, hopelessly confused. Gray moved to the front of the bot. On its chest was an access panel containing its motherboard. He ripped the board from it and the bot crumpled to the floor. Without a brain, it was just a useless metal husk.

"Now that's taken care of," Gray said, "I can finally switch to my new model."

On his workbench lay a gleaming new Mecha Engineer.

Gray clipped the old memory card to the engineer's information retrieval port, "You can wake up now."

The engineer's eyes lit up. It hummed softly as it stood and processed the new information, "Data retrieved; respawn... I am ready to finish the plan."

Gray returned to the monitors, "Excellent," keeping his eyes on the screen, he spoke to Helen, "While he's doing that, there's a certain Pyro I'd like to pay a visit to."

On a separate set of monitors, a small batch of new robots sparked to life.

* * *

A bolt clicked and the caged man braced himself for the upcoming interrogation. The man who stepped through the door was not who the prisoner expected. He was only a few years younger than the prisoner and deathly nervous. His blue eyes flittered about the room, trying hard to focus on anything but the prisoner. Shakily, the interrogator made his way to a chair before the prisoner. After fumbling with the switch and trigger for several minutes, the thin interrogator finally activated the electric generator.

Nervously, he cleared his throat, "A-Allo."

"Bonjour," the prisoner replied, taking careful note of his interrogator's nervous ticks.

"G-good, y-you can speak. T-tell me, wh-what is your name?"

The prisoner smirked. This was much too easy. The man lacked confidence and composure. He was a dog expecting a beating from his master; submissive, timid, and stuck in a state of constant fear.

"John Smith," the prisoner replied.

The interrogator frowned and smoothed back his thick black hair, "N-no, no, your real name please."

Despite his tight restraints, the prisoner reclined in his chair.

"John Doe," he said.

The interrogator's frown turned to a look better resembling despair.

"N-no," he stuttered, "I s-s-said g-give me y-your r-rr-real name!"

The prisoner saw his chance. The other man's nerves were frayed. It hadn't really taken much to break him, he was clearly a fragile person. Without hesitation, the prisoner took his opportunity to finish off the interrogator's will.

The prisoner shook his head, "You're just a child, aren't you?"

"N. N. N-no. I'm not a child." The interrogator said as he shrank into his chair.

"Please," the prisoner scoffed as he pressed his advantage of composure, "look at yourself, you're pathetic. S-stuttering about, cowering. You can't even look me in the eye can you?"

At this, the interrogator closed his eyes and scrunched his face in concentration. The prisoner waited a moment before switching to a 'convince' tactic.

"Come on boy, walk away," the prisoner said, "take the easy route and save yourself the embarrassment. I'm not worth your time or your sanity."

"Viktor!" A German voice shouted over the intercom, "Don't listen to him, you can do it! He does not control you, he is not the master!"

The prisoner, understanding German, countered the intercom's claim. "No, you're not the master, you never will be. You're a child, there will always be people stronger than you, smarter than you, better than you. Give up. You're not strong enough to go through with this. You don't have the stomach to interrogate me because you know that you will never control me and I will never submit to you."

"Viktor, he's lying to you! You'll be fine. Just. Take. Control."

Viktor whimpered softly and pulled his legs up under his chin. He clapped his hands over his ears and rocked slowly back and forth.

The prisoner examined the situation and stopped talking. The voice over the intercom continued to preside over Viktor. However, the prisoner saw this as a time to stop. He recognized that Viktor was close to being pushed too far, and if he got there, he could become unpredictable.

Finally, Viktor snapped. He shot from his chair and stood, panting heavily.

"Shut up!" he screamed, "Both of you shut up! Stop judging me! Stop telling me what to do! Stop treating me like a child! This is my interrogation, my test subject and my life!"

The prisoner pressed himself against his chair as Viktor turned up the generator so the band on the prisoner's arm practically cracked with electricity.

Viktor poised his thumb over the electric trigger.

"You," he yelled, "tell me your name!"

"I-" the prisoner started.

Viktor tapped the trigger and a horrible, white hot pain shot through the prisoner's arm. He'd been electrocuted before, but never at this magnitude. It felt like someone was running a hot knife over his skin. Involuntarily, he let out a small scream.

"Give me your name now!"

"Phillippe Picaro," the prisoner said, voice wavering as he gave the false name. He realized that now was not the time to mess with the German. Every sign of the man's body informed the prisoner he was angered beyond reason. His posture was erect, his shoulders were back, his muscles were tense, and his face was contorted so that even the streaks of tears running down his face looked angry.

"What were you doing impersonating an SS in Auschwitz last month?"

The prisoner held his tongue. There was no way he'd give up his mission. "I'm not going to tell you that," he said simply.

Viktor held the trigger for a mere two seconds. The extra time hurt more than the last. It felt as if a million tiny needles were being run into his arm from his elbow to his shoulder.

Viktor didn't stop there though, "Tell me!" he shouted.

"No." The prisoner said in a weaker voice than before.

The prisoner let out another cry of agony as electricity shot through his body. This time was exactly like the last, but it didn't hurt any less. He screamed in agony and writhed violently against his restraints.

"Tell me!" Viktor screamed.

"No." The prisoner said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Viktor's body extended to its full height. With all the sympathy gone from his eyes, he held down the electric trigger and didn't stop. The pain started out simple, then it grew and spread. It moved from his arm into his chest. It started off like a knife then intensified. Soon, it felt as if razor legged insects were running up and down the left side of his body, lacerating his skin, destroying his muscle and shredding his veins. And worst of all, he wouldn't pass out. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how his brain screamed for it all to stop, he stayed awake. At first, he fought. He fought as hard as he could against the heavy leather straps binding him to the chair, but the pain took all his strength. Soon, he gave up and pleaded. He'd never felt so weak or pathetic in his life, but the prisoner pleaded. He pleaded for his life and for Viktor to stop.

He cried too. Anything to get him to stop. Anything to get the pain to stop. Anything...anything...

* * *

Heavy awoke in the middle of the night to someone screaming. All the doors were thick, so the sound was soft and muffled, but Heavy was a light sleeper. He had been ever since Zhanna was born. Once upon a time, he'd wake up in the middle of the night to her crying and would go to her. Usually it was because she'd had a bad dream, other times, it was because she wanted to see her brother. Either way, Heavy would get up, walk down the hall and comfort her, as he did now with the screaming man.

As quietly as he could, Heavy made his way down the smooth, wood floored hallway and up to the source of the noise. Without hesitation, he opened the door of the room. Inside, he could hear the screams clearly. Whatever the reason for them, they were screams of pain broken only by sharp intakes of breath. Instinctually, Heavy moved to the bed, scooped up the screaming man in his arms and held him.

The man thrashed violently against the constraint before settling down. Heavy didn't really know who he was holding, but it didn't matter. Gently, he held the man tight until he calmed down and his breathing fell into regular intervals. Without looking down, Heavy felt the man's head raise.

"Heavy?"

Instantly, he identified the voice as Spy's. His tone was soft and his voice barely rose above a whisper.

"Heavy, what are you doing?" He said slowly.

Heavy considered the question. He'd come to Spy's side thinking more of his younger sisters and how they had once needed his help when they had bad dreams.

"You were having terrible dream and needed help."

Spy attempted to pry himself out of Heavy's grasp, but the Russian was too strong.

"I'm fine Heavy, I don't need your help." His voice faltered and fell on the last word.

Heavy sat on the edge of the bed, still holding Spy in his arms. He didn't understand why Spy felt the need to act strong and indifferent all the time. Medic was one of the strongest people Heavy knew, and even he had to break down into fits of rage from time to time. As for Spy, Heavy didn't know how the man coped with his emotions. Then again, maybe he didn't.

"You do not have to be strong all the time," Heavy said.

Spy once again tried to wiggle from Heavy's grasp. Yet again though, he was unable to escape Heavy, especially since his arms were bound by Heavy's hold.

"Put me down," he mumbled.

Heavy ignored the request, "Tell me about dream."

Spy finally managed to free his arms. He hauled himself from Heavy's grip and fell lightly to the floor. Straightening the collar on his silk night wear, Spy stood and glared at Heavy.

"Leave," he ordered.

Heavy folded his arms and gave Spy a bored expression.

"What, in dream, was hurting you?"

Spy straightened his posture and allowed a look of mild frustration to appear on his face.

"Leave,_ now_."

Heavy stood so he towered over Spy. In every respect, Heavy was larger than Spy. He was taller, wider and better muscled. Yet, the smaller man did not waver, even as Heavy looked down at him.

"I will go, but only if you answer two questions."

Spy considered the offer and decided it was best to get the Russian from his room as quickly as possible.

"Alright."

"Did you have bad dream?"

"Yes."

Heavy chose his next words carefully. He didn't want Spy to refuse to answer. He went with the simplest form of the question.

"Were you scared?"

Spy lowered his eyes to the floor so he wouldn't have to look at Heavy.

"Yes," he said quietly, "Now get out."

Heavy nodded and left the room. Then, just behind him, he heard the lock click shut.

* * *

A soft alarm beeped and the doors to the underground train slid open. Soldier was the first to bolt out the door into the above ground station. At first, he thought he'd made it to America, but something was off. The streets outside didn't look right. There was a bike rental area outside the station and people moved about the parking lot in what appeared to be a normal fashion. Then, Soldier realized the problem.

Nearly none of the people around him were speaking American.

Soldier glared at the surrounding area, "Dammit."

Obviously the trains in this 'Europe' country were broken. They did not make it to America as they should. He needed a new plan of action. There must have been some mode of transportation that would lead him to America…but what? There had to be something he was overlooking. Some small detail he'd missed or forgotten about.

He'd already thought of boats and airplanes, and the train hadn't worked out very well. However, there was still one thing he hadn't thought of; taxies. There was nothing more American than angry taxi drivers yelling at traffic and red lights. Now, all he had to do was find one of the glorious yellow cars and he'd be off to America.

Soldier rushed form the train station and into the cool morning air. He was happy to be back on his feet and running. He knew he would eventually find a taxi, but he might was well enjoy the run while he was at it.

The surrounding buildings were a mix of old and new. Intricate stone pillars mixed with parking meters and street lamps. The old brick streets held a wide selection of cars and scooters. Larger, aged trees stood from planters adjoining young saplings. Yes, this place was far from being American.

While enjoying the run, Soldier nearly crashed into a group of people lingering on the sidewalk. Soldier bowed his head and swerved to avoid them. Then, he stopped dead in his tracks. He turned abruptly on his heels and rubbed his eyes. What he was seeing couldn't be real. Miss. Pauling, Heavy and Engineer were waiting around a shop with a name Soldier couldn't read. Cautiously, he snuck up on Heavy and jabbed his arm.

Heavy turned sharply with his fist raised. When he saw Soldier, his face changed from anger to surprise, "Soldier?"

"Yes sir!"

Miss. Pauling perked up from her slouched position, "Soldier! How'd you get here?"

Soldier stood straighter, "I took the train."

Miss. Pauling frowned, "The trai….never mind. We almost have the whole team, well, half the team."

Soldier looked around at the small group, "Are these all the men you've gathered?"

Engineer shook his head, "Nope. Medic an Spy are in the pharmacy. Medic thinks Spy might be sick."

"And he is," Medic said as he strode from the pharmacy, "vell, sort-of. I don't think its anything serious. It should go avay fairly soon zhough because I think its an after effect of having his memory restored as the experience seems to affect all of us differently. I svear Heavy must have hugged me at least ten times last night."

A slight blush washed over Heavy's face, "At least I was not trying to kill furniture."

Medic grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath, "Sure…How did it affect you Herr Soldier?"

Soldeir crossed his arms. He wasn't really sure what Medic was talking about, but he was fairly certain it had to do with mission, "It affected me by reminding me that I need to get to America."

"Right," Miss. Pauling said, "America. Which we need to get too, soon. We've got enough people to take on Gray now. It's worth a shot... Oh and, uh, Medic, where's Spy?"

Spy stumbled a bit as he exited the pharmacy. His hair was ruffled and fly away and his suit crumpled at the edges. His skin was unnaturally pale, but he held a stern expression on his face, "I'm right here…Soldier?"

The American stood at attention, "I am here and ready to go home."

Heavy unfolded his arms and moved toward the car, "Heavy is ready for home too. I will drive, I know where airport is."

Spy pressed his cool palm to his warm temple, "Yes, the sooner we return to America, the better. I'm done with France."

* * *

**In the upcoming chapters; Pyro, Sniper, the reveal of the new robots, plenty of fish, and Engineer having to make difficult decisions! Stay tuned.**


	12. Fire and Water

Draped over the arm of her latest lover, Rosa Sanders walked down the red carpet. The lover, Jorge, had suggested they see a play tonight. Rosa had protested at first, she said she had no interest in the theatre she visited every day, for a play she wasn't a part of. It would be odd, for her, to see the stage from the audience's perspective. Eventually though, he'd convinced her there was some value in seeing the play, and they ended up at the theatre.

Distracted, Rosa fell out of step with Jorge. He lightly grabbed her hand and led her into the theatre. Around them, a small crowd of people shuffled inside. The couple jostled amidst the throng eager to reach their assigned seats. Rosa took the lead and instinctively led Jorge to their place in the first row. Hand in hand, the two sat in the plush, red seats. A muffled din echoed throughout the auditorium as the last of the people filed in. The theatre itself smelled faintly of aged wood and damp clay. Most people would have considered the smell old or unpleasant, but for Rosa, it was the smell of home. Though she's never admit it to Jorge, Rosa lived in a small loft just above the stage. Whenever she went out with a lover, she'd rent a much nicer room at a hotel.

"Have you seen this one before?"

Rosa looked down at the program in Jorge's hand. It was a silly little spoof on Romeo and Juliette, "Yes, I have."

Jorge chuckled, "Is it any good?"

Rosa smiled at the memory of acting the play. It didn't have a great story, but the characters were likable and the jokes were funny, "It's pretty good, funny mostly."

"That's good, I could use a laugh."

Before Rosa could respond, the lights dimmed and the audience went silent.

For the next hour, the play proceeded exactly as Rosa had expected it too. The jokes were tied well and the cast executed the play to the letter. Yet, while the rest of the audience was sent howling in laughter, Rosa found herself bored. There was just something about watching the play from the outside that was horribly dull. She missed the grandeur of the stage. She wanted to be one of the actors in bright costumes using silly voices. After being on the stage, reality just seemed so void of joy.

Suddenly, the splintering of wood resonated throughout the auditorium. The stage went silent. The lead actor's face paled and his eyes widened. Rosa turned back in her seat to see the double doors of the theatre left in splinters on the floor. Standing in the empty doorway was a massive robot. Quill-like spikes covered its body. Its eyes glowed red from within sunken sockets, just below, its anaconda mouth hung open with wood shards falling from between jagged teeth.

Quietly, it raised its arm and uncurled one large, knife-like finger, "Rosa."

The theatre panicked. Women screamed, men cowered. Children clutched their parents as they fled. Chairs were climbed over. The set was toppled. Actors and stage crew made their flight. The robot started running to Rosa. Jorge abandoned her. Rosa turned instantly and went against the crowd toward the stage. She could hear the click of metal against the floor. She ran faster.

Onstage, the curtains were ablaze. In their haste, the crew had toppled a set of lit tiki torches. Rosa charged head on into the inferno. Backstage was engulfed in white hot flame. Rosa grit her teeth and ran inside. Once enveloped in the fire, something changed. The flames licked harmlessly against her skin. The heat seemed to cool to a comforting warmth. Then, she found herself standing in a field of rainbows and bubbles. Behind her was a large, smiling dog. Its tail wagged excitedly as it bounded toward her. On the ground lay a large bone. She thought the nice doggy would want a treat.

The robot charged into the fire. Its database told it this one would not burn. It knew it had to be careful, it prey was in its natural habitat. Then, it found her. She was simply standing amidst the fire, arms outspread. The robot charged toward her and her head turned sharply toward it. Undeterred, the robot ran harder. Claws outstretched, it pounced. Its prey whipped around sharply and drove a flaming wood beam straight into its core. The robot froze. It had been ready for fire and guns and even axes, but it hadn't been ready for attacks to it belly. Gearboxes jammed and, its power leaking rapidly, the robot crumpled to the floor.

Ignacia watched as the dog took the bone and dropped happily to the floor. Leaving the dog to its toy, she exited the theatre to head home. Her friends were probably worried. She'd been gone a long time.

* * *

"Your daughter has a very interesting condition, Mrs. Avila."

Mrs. Avila flicked the butt of her cigarette into an ashtray, "What do you mean doctor?"

Dr. Julius glanced to Ignacia and clutched his clipboard closer to his chest, "I mean that your daughter has a condition known as pyromania."

Mrs. Avila shook her head, "I already knew that doctor," she picked up the fireman's hat off the office chair and set it on Ignacia's black, curly hair, "We didn't come all this way for a baseline diagnosis. Come Ignacia, we're leaving."

Ignacia pocketed her lighter and stood to follow her mother.

"That's not all."

Mrs. Avila turned back with one hand on the doorknob, "Oh?"

"You see, aside from experiencing joy from fire, your daughter also seems to hallucinate in its presence."

"And?"

"I believe it's the answer to your questions."

Mrs. Avila stepped close enough to Dr. Julius to be heard at a whisper, "Is that why she has the mentality of a child? Why she barely talks, why she's so..._disturbed_?"

"Yes."

"...I see..."

While the two went about their whispered conversation, Ignacia removed her hat and set it aside. From the pocket of her fire proof suit, she pulled out a gas mask. She unfolded the black rubber and slid it over her head. Ignacia smiled, now she wouldn't have to talk to anyone.

"Ignacia, we're leaving."

Mrs. Avila marched to the office door and threw it open. Just before the threshold, two men in white coats stood as if waiting.

"Mrs. Avila right?" One of the men said, "We're here for your daughter."

"What?"

Dr. Julius placed a gentle hand on Mrs. Avila's shoulder, "I'm sorry. I called the institution once I got the results. Your daughter is a menace to society. She could hurt people and think it's a game. This is for the best."

The man who spoke stepped around and held Mrs. Avila back while the other man approached Ignacia with a straight jacket.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you. I've got this nice jacket here for you, you wanna try it on?"

Mrs. Avila watched wordlessly as the man took her daughter's arm and gently helped her into the jacket. She wanted to call out, but she knew there was no point. In recent years, Ignacia had responded less and less to spoken word. Not that Mrs. Avila had ever really been good at getting through to her. It was always Mr. Avila who interacted with Ignacia. Yet, on the one day they could take Ignacia to the doctor, he had to work.

"She'll be in good hands, Mrs. Avila."

Mrs. Avila bowed her head so she wouldn't have to watch the men take her daughter away.

* * *

"What do you mean were _grounded_?"

The airport attendant smoothed back his thinning hair. He hated dealing with grounded customers, they were always so frustrated and there was next to nothing he could do to fix it. "Look, ma'am, there's nothing I can do. There's a major storm system coming in and we're grounding all our craft."

Miss. Pauling groaned and rubbed her brow, "When can we leave?"

The attendant flicked open a schedule book, "Roughly two days, maybe less."

"Two days... Thank you, we'll be back then."

Miss. Pauling marched away from the attendant. She wanted to be frustrated with the situation, but couldn't quite bring herself to it. For one, she was exhausted from the jet lag between America and France. Then there was the stress of getting back to Teufort before Gray decided to launch an attack. Between the two, she felt completely drained.

Dell glanced up when he saw Miss. Pauling approaching, "So, how'd it go?"

Miss. Pauling threw herself into the chair next to Dell, "We're stuck here."

Medic groaned, "Of course."

Dell stood and put a broad smile on his face, "C'mon, it ain't so bad. We can walk around the city, see some history an grab lunch at one a them Cajun restaurants."

Medic shook his head, "Nein, ve should do something productive."

"Like what?" Spy asked as he drew and lit a cigarette.

"I don't know."

Heavy shifted himself in the plastic airport waiting chair, "Perhaps we should go down to water front and be tourists for day."

Soldier slammed his fist on the arm of his chair, "Tourists?! I'll have you know I am an American and I do not need to wander my own country looking for Hawaiian shirts and key chains!"

"We are not real tourists, Soldier. We just pretend to be tourists, da?"

Soldier let out a 'humph' and crossed his arms. He bowed his head and scuffed the floor with the edge of his foot. He reclined into the fabric of his chair, "Fine, but I'm not buying any fridge magnets."

* * *

A cool mist collected on coast of the Gulf of Mexico and drifted across the docks of New Orleans. Smoky white tendrils migrated throughout the city. Soon, they began to ascend and mix with the dark, low clouds above. Once the two came together, the mist thickened and formed a dense fog across the skyline. On the roads, lights of all kinds flickered to life. Storefronts, street lights and headlights attempted to cut through the thick air. Above their light, the sky threatened to unleash a torrential downpour.

"Of all the days for fog, taday has ta be the day."

Mrs. Degroot did her best to glare at her son, "Have ya gone soft? I remember drivin in worse fog in Scotland every day."

Demo rolled his eye, "Ack, mum, ya can't even see the fog."

"I don't have tah see it tah know yer growin soft."

"Yeah," Demo grumbled, "_I'm_ goin soft."

Scout fidgeted in the backseat. He'd been in the car for far too long. An itch had started in his legs, urging him to run. He was done with the whole road trip and they hadn't even hit Texas yet. It hadn't helped that Demo'd gotten lost and landed them in New Orleans. In Scout's opinion, it was time to stop and stretch for once, "Hey Demo, would you stop already, I'm dyin back here."

Demo sighed heavily. Nearly everything that came out of the boy's mouth on the trip had been a complaint. He was bored, or he was hungry or he needed to use the bathroom. There was just no pleasing the young Scout, "I suppose we should stop for a while. We aren't gonna be goin anywhere with this fog."

Demo quickly pulled the car to the side of the road and parked in a meter-less curb. Before the engine was cut, Scout bolted onto the sidewalk. Instantly, he took off in a sprint into the fog.

"I hope he gets lost," Demo grumbled as he helped his mother from the car.

Mrs. Degroot planted her feet firmly on the ground and waved off her son's helping hand, "He'll come back, he doesn't have any money."

While the Degroots started off toward a nearby restaurant district, Scout tore down the street. Cold air whipped his hair back and small beads of water clung to his skin and cloths. It felt good just to get out and run. If he was being honest with himself, Scout knew being locked in the car wasn't the only thing bothering him. He couldn't stand knowing he'd been Rick. All the smiling and intense working. Worse still, at a _fast food restaurant_. He wanted nothing more than to run away from it. Some part of him still believed he could. Now, as he raced through the city, he imagined his troubles as a hit-man chasing him down. The only thing keeping him safe was the rhythm of his feet against the pavement. As he went, his trouble and worry faded. He was outrunning it.

Then, as he rounded a corner to the docks, he clipped the shoulder of a man walking in the opposite direction. Scout fumbled slightly at the contact and was in the midst of catching his fall when the man's fist smashed into his stomach. Scout sucked in a short breath only to have it knocked out of him when the man's elbow crashed into his back and sent him sprawling to the floor. From his place on the ground, Scout coughed violently and attempted to yell at the man.

The only response his gagging received was a very confused and very French sounding, "Scout?"

The man in question flopped onto his back. Above him, a familiar face materialized from the gloom, "What the hell...Spy?"

The Frenchman raised an eyebrow, "Yes?"

Scout scrambled to his feet and resisted the urge to punch Spy, "What, why, how are you even here?"

Engineer trotted up behind Spy, "Ah should ask the same of you pardner."

Scout peered around Engineer to find Heavy, Medic, Soldier and Miss. Pauling, "Oh hey, Miss. Pauling. I didn't expect to see you here. Are ya like, gettin the team back tagetha or somethin?"

"Actually Scout, I am."

Scout smiled and nodded. In a burst of energy, he clapped his hands together loudly, "Yeah? Well, you'll love me then 'cause I already found Demo."

A look of surprise fluttered across the assistant's face, "Really? That's great. Now we only need Sniper and Pyro..."

"We do not _need_ the camper," Soldier pointed out.

Scout shook his head, "Yeah, yeah, whatevah. Let's just go find Demo, I think he and his ma went to find food or somethin."

Overhead, the low rumble of thunder shook the sky. A flash of lighting lit the air and, as if on cue, rain poured down in droplets the size of grapes.

"Aw hell," Engineer said.

Miss. Pauling looked around as the rain quickly soaked the wood planks, "Wow, this is a _lot_ of rain. Maybe we should find some cover?"

The group did a quick sweep of the area. The lack of buildings on the dock made it so no cover could be found.

"Eh, eh folks!"

The group on the dock turned to see a man waving to them from a rusting boat.

"By chance do ya want to come in outta the rain? I've got a cabin on the boat, just come aboard."

Miss. Pauling looked briefly back to her group, shrugged and started off to the boat. Scout scurried after her, encouraging the remaining mercenaries to fall in line to the craft. Together, they rushed up the rickety gangplank, across the boat's wood deck and into the captain's cabin.

The cabin's interior was sparsely furnished. At the center of the room, a wood desk and two chairs were bolted to the floor. In the corner, a net was strung up between the two walls to create a hammock. One wall was decorated with maps and naval charts. The other was covered in charts and diagrams tracking catch and profit.

"So," the man said, "you're not from around here, are ya?"

Instead of responding, the group simply stared at the man. In the light of the cabin, the man's features came into view. His face was long and tanned from days in the sun. Permanent frown lines creased the edge of his lips. His brown hair was soaked and his eyes slowly scanned those before him from behind a pair of square glasses.

"What's wrong with y'all? Do ya not speak English or somethin?"

"It's the camper," Soldier whispered loudly across the room to Miss. Pauling.

The man's face scrunched slightly, "The...nah. My name's Louis Venn. Ya can ca me Louie. I'm the captain of this 'ere fine vessel. We fish mostly, not for fish though. We catch crayfish 'ere."

Scout chuckled, "So what, ya traded crocodiles for mini lobster?"

"Uh, what?"

Medic nudged Scout's arm, "Don't be so insensitive Herr Scout. Zhe man doesn't know vhat you're talking about."

Louis stepped closer to Medic. He readjusted his glasses and crossed his arms, "Actually, what _are_ ya talkin about doc?"

Medic looked to his group for backup. Each pair of eyes he met turned instantly away, "Uh, I...eh. Have you ever heard of Reliable Excavation and Demolition?"

Louis scratched his head, "I think I've heard of 'em...but, it's not really a thing I'm familiar with..."

Louis grabbed the bridge of his nose and groaned. With both hands, he massaged his temples. Quickly, he stumbled to the hammock and sat on its edge. Out of curtesy, he tried to focus on his guests, "I'm sorry, I've got this god-awful headache. Dunno where it came from."

A smile crept across Medic's face, "Really? You know, I've alvays found zhat a good cup of coffee clears up zhe symptoms very vell."

The force of the headache eased, "Yeah, that'd be nice. Actually, I'm feelin a lot better now. I guess it was just my reacting to the storm or somethin."

Medic's smile faded as he let out a small sigh. He thought he'd been close to getting Louis back to Sniper, but perhaps it had just been coincidence.

"You're not Australian," Miss. Pauling said suddenly.

Louis' attention snapped to Miss. Pauling, "What."

The assistant continued, "Well, not _really_ Australian. I mean, you never had chest hair, or an urge to fight, or even a mustache. It's not like it would matter though. You're so skinny and weak, you couldn't beat up anyone. A real Australian would have some muscle. And, you think you're strong because you could survive in the outback? It just makes you more of a coward, running from your problems, always hiding in trees. You didn't belong in Australia, you still don't. Because you're not Australian. You're just a Kiwi."

The sound of rain against the cabin windows seemed to pause to admit the silence enveloping the room. Everyone within stood frozen like statues. No one twitched or blinked. Even breathing seemed forbidden.

Miss. Pauling's voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm sorry Sniper."

Louis' eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed backward into the hammock.

* * *

Tears streaming down his face, Alex ran down the dusty road to his house. As he approached the red farmhouse, he tore off his backpack and book bag and cast them aside. Free from the burden, he accelerated down the drive. On the front porch, his mother sat in a rocking chair, half asleep in the warm shade.

"Mum!"

Martha's eyes fluttered open. The second she saw her son, she shot upright and spread her arms, "Alexander, what's wrong?"

Alex threw himself into his mother's arms. With the back of his hand, he wiped tear streaks from his cheeks. He sniffled and took several jerking breaths, "I-it's the kids at school."

Martha used the pad of her thumb to clear the lingering tears from the edge Alex's eyes, "Yeah? What about them?"

"Th-they chased me up a tree at recess an after school, they teased me."

Martha shifted Alex in her lap so his legs were curled up under him, "Really? Is that all th-" She stopped mid-sentence. She had to remind herself he was still young and insults stung worse than a hard slap to the face, "I'm sorry Alexander, what did they say?"

Alex buried his face in Martha's shirt, "They said I'm not Australian."

Martha pulled Alex back so she could see his face, "That's ridiculous. You live in Australia, don't you?"

Alex nodded.

"That alone makes you Australian."

Alex frowned, "Yeah, but they said it's because I'm not like them. I'm not real strong and I don't have a mustache like they do."

"So? Who cares what they think. They're just a bunch a kids. You know what, I bet they're jealous."

Alex rubbed the last of his tears from his chin, "Jealous?"

"Yeah. They're jealous of your band skills and your intelligence, and especially," Martha bent over to retrieve one of Alex's many homemade slingshots from the ground, "they're jealous of your aim."

"Really?"

"Really."

Alex gently took the slingshot from his mother's hand, "I...I guess so..."

Alex jumped from Martha's lap, "I'm gonna go practice then. I'll show those guys I'm just as tough as them."

Martha smiled, "That's the Alexander I know."

Alex grinned and started off to the outback bordering the house.

* * *

**Yay, we (basically) finished the traveling! It's almost time for the action to begin! Also, for this chapter in particular, I'd really appreciate a few reviews on the two memories (or just mention them) just because I've never really written backstory for Sniper or Pyro before.**


	13. Base One

**Hello! I'm sorry this chapter's so short, I wanted to finish it before I went on vacation. Well, that and its more or less just a set-up chapter.**

* * *

In the hours before dawn, Gray Mann's personal Mecha Engineer entered its master's quarters.

Gray heard the chink of metal on metal and slowly opened his eyes. Before the robot could speak, Gray held up a hand. With a crack of his back, he sat up, "What is it?"

The robot clicked quietly, "The Anti-Pyro was destroyed."

Gray moaned, "How?"

"The final feed we received was of a blow to the central gearbox from the underside."

Gray rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled a pad of paper from his nightstand. In black ink, he wrote, _note; add extra armor to gearbox_

Gray tucked the notebook in his shirt pocket, "I should have mounted the weaponry before sending it out."

The engineer beeped, "Yes."

Gray stood from bed. His joints cracked and popped at the strain, "What of the others?"

The robot watched as its master activated the building's main power systems. Lights flickered to life and the building resonated with an electric hum. "From what we know of the others, they're approaching Teufort. Our trackers indicate they've recently left the city of New Orleans."

"How many of them are there?"

The bot clicked, "Five confirmed,

Three more speculated."

Gray raised an eyebrow, "Speculated?"

"Yes. There is reason to believe the Engineer, Spy and Medic are with the others."

Gray nodded, "I see."

The bot shifted so it was in its master's field of view, "Should an attack be launched?"

Gray folded his hands together, "No. They'll come to us," he tightened his grip on the notebook full of the plans for his new bots, "I still need time to perfect the Anti series. Besides, it's always better to play on the home field."

* * *

Sniper woke up in the back of a van. His first thought was that he'd been kidnapped. He'd blacked out, got his memory back and was being held hostage.

"Hallo Sniper."

Startled, Sniper shot upright and was met with a sickening crack as his head collided with Medic's. Both men recoiled sharply.

"Ah, doc! What the hell're you doin?"

Medic rubbed the slowly forming bruise on his brow, "Vell, ve're going to zhe old Hydro base."

Sniper closed his eyes to stop the world from spinning, "The abandoned one?"

"Ja, ve don't think Gray knows about it."

Heavy opened one eye, "Da, base is very old, is no longer in database. We will be safe there."

Sniper sat up slowly and leaned against the van's metal wall. He hadn't yet decided what blurred his thoughts worse, the blackout, his memory regain, or the blow he took to the head. "Oi hope so mate."

On the road ahead, the wall of a massive dam rose up from the hard, cracked dirt. Just beneath it, a large base stretched across an expanse of dry riverbed. Radio towers and satellite dishes pock-marked the barren earth. Churning up a cloud of dust, the van pulled up to the rusted chain link fence guarding the base. Several signs were posted on the fence warning that the base was closed and trespassing was not permitted.

The van slowed to an idle and Engineer exited the passenger's side. He approached the comically large paddock chained to the main gate. With a swift tug, the old chain broke loose and crumbled to the ground. Engineer reentered the van. Slowly, it pulled into the garage in the main segment of the base.

"Well," Miss. Pauling said, "here we are; Hydro. Do any of you remember this base?"

Soldier jumped from the back of the van, "I remember these battles taking forever."

Engineer nodded bitterly, remembering the neck and neck Hydro battles, "Hey Sniper, why doncha come with me? Ah'm gonna go turn on the generators an empty the reservoir."

Wordlessly, Sniper followed the Texan into the base's dark underground. He wasn't interested in standing around awkwardly with the rest of the team. Actually, he didn't want to be around anyone. He just wanted to climb to the top of the radio tower and play the saxophone.

With an omph, Sniper ran into Engineer's outstretched hand.

The Texan put a finger to his lips and pointed ahead.

In the dark of the hall, a woman's figure stood with her back turned. She wore a red dress that sparkled and moved like fire. At the ends and in patches, the dress was singed black. The woman herself had long, flowing black hair. From what little Sniper could see, her skin was a deep tan and seemed to emit a faint orange glow.

"Howdy," Engineer called.

The sound echoed off the stone walls. Cautiously, the woman craned her neck back to the two men. Her amber eyes blinked several times, but she made no further attempt to move.

Engineer moved closer to the woman and held his arms out in an embrace, "Hi Pyro."

The woman gave a lopsided smile. Her body whipped around and charged Engineer. At the last second, she slowed and picked up the beaming man in a crushing hug.

"Whoa there smoky, no need to crush me."

Pyro pulled back and clapped her hands together, "Sorry! You're here. I'm home. We're home."

Sniper noted her voice was coarse and raspy. Up close, he noticed her frame was wider and taller making her appear more masculine. He'd thought Pyro was a man for nine years.

"Come with me Pyro, we'll turn the lights back on an getcha a suit."

Pyro nodded vigorously and followed Engineer like an excited puppy. Sniper fell in behind them. Even in the dark, he could see the base was in a bad state. Chips and cracks coated the concrete walls. Browned water spots stained the gray of the hall. In all, the base had a musty smell about it that made Sniper wrinkle his nose.

"Here we are," Engineer said as he scraped open a crumbling steel door.

Inside, a massive set of computers stretched across the walls. Engineer walked to the main console and held down a thumb sized blue button. From above, Sniper heard a rush of water. The control room began to thrum as a set of turbines creaked to life. Overhead, the room's fluorescent lights illuminated the active control board. On the main screen, a diagram monitoring power lit up in a variety of greens and blues.

"Heh, looks like this ol' base is holdin up pretty well."

Sniper nodded absentmindedly. Seeing the base in light, he couldn't help but remember the intense territorial control matches that had been held there.

Engineer moved to a metal locker, "Oh and Ah almost forgot," from inside, he pulled a blue Pyro's suit and mask, "Here ya are."

Pyro accepted the suit and turned it over several times.

"Sorry 'bout the blue, were in the old BLU part a the area."

Pyro seemed not to care, and moved into the corner to change.

Engineer turned his attention to Sniper, "So, how're ya doin? Ya blacked out for a mighty long time after Nawlans."

Sniper pulled a face, "Ya mean New Orleans? Yeah, Oi'm fine. Just disoriented, wakin up in the back of a van an all..."

Engineer rubbed the back of his neck, "Yeah, Ah suppose that wasn't the best move on our part. Ah well, at least we're here now. An, uh, Ah don't think we have to worry too much about Gray Mann. Pauling and Ah think he doesn't know this base exists. So long as we don't turn on the respawn, we should be safe."

"Mnh..."

Engineer chuckled softly, "Heh, we'll talk about plans tomorrow. Fer now, why don't ya go find the room marked Sniper? Ah'll take care of Pyro."

Sniper smiled half way and wandered from the control room. If the BLU base was anything like the RED base, Sniper guessed the bedrooms would be up a stairwell just beyond the hallway up ahead. Then again, he could be wrong. Hydro was the only base he'd found where the two sides weren't identical. Most of the time, but even their layouts matched. Thankfully though, the rooms were where he thought they'd be and the Sniper room was the second one he found.

Inside was simply furnished. A small desk was shoved up against one wall and a cot across from it. A wardrobe sat in one corner and a small weapon maintenance station was situated near the door. On the far wall, two large windows opened onto a balcony.

Sniper instantly walked to one window, cracked it open and stood out on the balcony. Below, water rushed from beneath the dam, flooding the once dry riverbed. Suddenly, the oddly high off the ground design of the base made sense.

With the sun setting above the canyon, Sniper stood on the balcony and relaxed. He knew he'd only have this moment of peace. Even though he didn't fully understand what was going on, he knew that if Engineer was cooking up a plan, he was in for an exciting week. Chuckling at the thought, Sniper walked back inside just as darkness washed over Hydro.

* * *

**Up next, plans! Then, war or, eh, battle!**


	14. Have a Plan

**Ok, this chapter was supposed to come out a few days ago, but then the plot happened. Also, I'd like to thank the guests who have reviewed as I can't message you.**

* * *

The next morning, nine mercenaries, Miss. Pauling and Mrs. Degroot met around the base's large conference table.

Miss. Pauling stood at the front of the room, holding a broken stick of chalk in her hand, "Alright guys, we need a plan to take down Gray. Any suggestions?"

Engineer walked up next to Miss. Pauling and swiped a stick of chalk from the tray beneath the blackboard, "Well, Ah don't have a plan, but Ah've got a schematic of Gray's headquarters."

On the board, Engineer sketched out a rough plan of what he remembered of Gray's base.

"Now, Ah can't pull up the electronic schematic right now, but Ah remember pretty well what the first floor looks like. Alrighty, so, the base itself is situated on an island. Any ideas a how ta get in?"

Soldier slowly raised his hand.

The team looked skeptically between themselves.

"Yes Soldier," Engineer asked.

"We can use the tanks. There are always tanks moving from the factory to the headquarters."

Engineer raised his eyebrows. He hadn't expected Soldier to have that kind of information. "You're sure this information is...accurate?"

Soldier nodded firmly, "Yes sir. We can enter the tanks and they will cross the bridge for us."

Medic leaned into the table, "How vould you know zhis, Soldier?"

Soldier looked about the room with a satisfied grin on his face, "I've infiltrated the robot base before."

Engineer crossed his arms. He could feel the skepticism of his team. He knew most of them didn't believe Soldier, but he'd never known the soldier to lie about the field of combat. "Well, Ah guess that covers our entrance...once we're inside-"

"You become top priority," Spy cut in.

Engineer took a small step back, "What?"

Miss. Pauling tapped Engie lightly on the shoulder, "We talked about it last night, you won't really be fighting."

"Why?"

"You're the only one who knows how to reprogram respawn. You told me all you need is a new DNA card..."

Engineer rubbed the back of his neck, "Y-yeah...Ah know Gray disassembled all a our respawns- an this one's been decommissioned...he's got one back at his base though, fer testin, Ah think. But, why would me reprogrammin the respawn be so important? Ah mean, we have Medic an the pocket regen. an the medigun."

Medic pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, "Yes, and I'm zhe only one who knows how to use zhem. I can't tend to all of you at once."

"Exactly," Miss. Pauling said, "we need respawn if we want to stand any chance of defeating Gray."

Engineer resisted the urge to glare at Miss. Pauling, "We don't even know if Gray's figured out how ta get rid a respawn."

"We can't take that chance. If we die, it's better to think we'll stay dead."

For several minutes, the room was silent. Though they'd discussed the matter the night before, no one had vocalized the threat of actual death. They'd forgotten that for most, a bullet to the brain meant more than mere inconvenience.

Heavy was the first to break the silence, "When we are in base, where should team go?"

Engineer snapped to attention, "Right, uh...we should attack through this side entrance here."

"Yeah," Sniper said, "while yer doin that, Oi'll find a vantage point and watch yer back."

Medic nodded, "Heavy, Spy and I vill stay by you Herr Engineer, to ensure you're safely in zhe base."

Soldier stood, grabbed Demo by the arm, and yanked him to his feet, "I will take Demo and lead the offensive."

"Ahy," Demoman confirmed.

Scout leaned back in his chair, "Yo mumbles, you wanna scout ahead with me?"

Pyro gave two thumbs up.

"I'm coming too," Miss. Pauling said.

The team shot the assistant a collective look of concern.

Miss. Pauling shrugged, "I think the Administrator might be there."

"An what'll Ah do?" Engineer asked.

Medic smiled, "All you have to do is follow Spy."

"That's all?"

Spy flicked a new cigarette between his fingers, "Oui. It's best you're alive to fix the respawn."

Engineer frowned, "There's nothin else ya need me ta do?"

Spy shook his head, "Not at all. For you, this fight should be easy."

* * *

Once the final details of the plan were in place, and everyone filed out of the conference room, Medic pulled Spy aside from the group.

"I need you to come vith me."

Spy straightened his tie, "Why?"

Medic started off toward his lab, "Since ve're back at a base, I believe it's time for a check-up. I know ve vent to zhe pharmacy in France, but vhat do zhose doctors know?"

Spy started off a few paces behind Medic, "What could you possibly find that they couldn't?"

Medic shrugged and threw open the door to his lab. With the flick of his wrist, the fading fluorescent lights illuminated the lab's chipped white paint. On a rolling cart, he'd already set up his operating equipment. "Vell, I've alvays found zhat zhe public doctors never conduct a thorough inspection. Now, if you could just sit here, ve'll get started."

Spy sat on the edge of the operating table Medic gestured to. His foot tapped up and down from where it hung above the ground. Behind Medic's back, his eyes flicked to the operating equipment and his hands tightened on the table beneath him.

Medic set the earpieces of his stethoscope in his ears, "Alright, just breath normally."

Medic stepped behind his teammate and placed the head of the stethoscope on his back. After a few seconds, the doctor frowned.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Spy avoided locking Medic in the eye, "Of course."

Medic raised an eyebrow, "Really? I haven't even gone past zhe first part of my examination and I'm already finding problems. First off, zhere's a rattle vhen you breath. It's metal on metal, I think zhere's a problem vith zhe über implant."

"And?"

Medic set aside the stethoscope, "I'm going to operate."

Spy dropped from the table and backed away from Medic, "Is that really necessary?"

Medic glared at Spy, "Yes. If zhe über implant is broken, zhe chemicals inside could kill you."

Spy moved toward the lab door, "I'm fine doctor."

"Spy, stop acting like a child. Zhere's no reason to be afraid of zhe doctor."

Spy scoffed, "I'm not afraid of you."

Medic took several steps toward Spy, "Zhen come over here."

Spy stiffened.

Medic gestured to the operating table, "Come Spy. It vill only take a few minutes."

Spy's expression betrayed nothing. He retained a steely gaze with Medic, but remained silent. Then, Medic lunged forward in just enough time to grab Spy's upper arm as he bolted. Using his superior weight, Medic lurched back and brought Spy with him. The assassin flailed slightly before landing hard on his feet. Medic reacted quickly, tackling Spy onto the operating table and restraining him with a built in leather band.

Panting, Medic leaned against the table's edge, "Zhere, zhat should make things easier."

Spy writhed beneath the restraint, "What the hell are you doing?"

Medic removed a large scalpel from its table, "I don't understand vhy you're so nervous about zhis. You vere so calm zhe first time."

With his free hand, Medic swung the mounted medigun around and focused it on Spy. In one swipe, Medic made a cut from Spy's collarbone to the middle of his abdomen. Shooing Archimedes, Medic used his bare hands to enlarge the cut enough to work with.

With the cut in his chest, Spy lay perfectly still. Carefully, his eyes followed every movement Medic made.

"Vait...vhat's zhis?"

Slowly, Medic removed the über implant to find that not only was it broken, but it had a blue core.

Medic turned the device over in his hand, "Are you zhe BLU spy?"

"No."

Medic glared down at the masked man, "Vhat are you hiding?"

"Nothing," Spy said quickly.

Medic's eyes thinned. He increased the power of the medigun and Spy's wounds healed over. He unlatched the table and hoisted Spy into the air by his collar.

"Vhat are you hiding from me, Spy?"

"I told you, nothing."

Medic dropped Spy to the floor, "Vhy must you be so stubborn? I'm only trying to help you."

The doctor looked down at his slouched teammate. From the edge of Spy's cut shirt, Medic saw a fading gray scar on Spy's chest. Curious, he bent down to investigate. Spy tried to resist Medic as he pulled aside the ruined shirt, but to no avail. Once the fabric was removed, the entire scar was visible. Extending from the middle of Spy's left forearm, a set of arching gray scars laced their way like lighting up to his heart. Medic's hand hovered centimeters from Spy's skin.

"No...no, no, no. You, it can't be you. It can't...but..."

Medic's hand balled into a fist. He reeled his arm back. In one motion, he brought his arm down on the spy. With a crack, Medic heard Spy's jaw break from the impact. Again he drew his arm back. Another crack as knuckle hit collar. Medic paused to pull the medigun over so Spy wouldn't die.

"It vas you!" Medic delivered several quick blows to Spy's chest and face, "I had to start a new life because of you!" Medic brought his fists down on Spy's chest, breaking several ribs, "I lost all my work!" He broke the Frenchman's nose and was greeted with a spray of blood, "My home," he tore off his victim's mask and ripped out his hair, "My livelihood!" Breathing heavily, Medic sat back on his feet, "Do you have any idea vhat it feels like to lose everything? To have to forget zhe life you had and start over?"

Wounds healed by the medigun, Spy shoved Medic back. The doctor sprawled onto the floor as Spy jumped to his feet. The Frenchman rushed forward and dug the heel of his shoe into Medic's throat.

"What would I know about loosing everything? All you lost was research."

Medic growled low in his throat, "You vouldn't understand zhe importance of my vork, you vere just a test subject."

Spy sighed and took his foot off Medic's throat. He took several brisk steps toward the door, "How did you know?"

Medic frowned, "How did I know? Who else vould have a scar like zhat…"

The tips of Spy's fingers brushed the scar on his chest. Quickly, he pulled the edges of his torn shirt together. He turned his head slightly back to Medic, "I see...good day doctor."

* * *

Everything happened so quickly. First, there was yelling. It came through the metal walls in a muffled state. He didn't understand what was going on. Then, they threw open the door, dragged him from his desk and forced him into the hallway. The hall smelled ascitic, like smoke from a chemical fire.

Viktor stumbled against the concrete wall adjoining his room. He threw his hands forward and narrowly avoided knocking his head against the wall.

A guard grabbed Viktor's arm and hustled him down the hall, "Move Klauss, this is a level three emergency."

Viktor wrenched his arm from the guards grasp, "What do you mean? What's the problem?"

The guard snapped around, "It's your subject, Picaro."

Viktor turned his palms up, "And?"

"He's escaped."

Viktor slapped the guard hard across the face, "You let him escape?!"

The guard rubbed the reddening hand mark, "He killed six of us. We're moving you to a safer location... He destroyed the lab..."

Viktor's eyes widened, "He..." Viktor bolted down the hall towards the lab. Behind him, he could hear the guard call for him to return, but Viktor persisted.

Before him was the lab, or what remained of it. Scorch marks lashed out from the lab into the hall. The door was hanging open with a small congregation of guards around it. Viktor pushed his way past the guards. The first thing he saw was black. The room had transformed from seamless white to a lightless void. Everything was destroyed. Computers, files, data, lost to a fire. Years of research, lost in minutes.

In the corner stood his father. In his hand, a file folder crumbled to dust, "It's gone...it's all gone."

Fists clenched, Viktor moved across the room. His breathing came slow and shaky.

"Everything we've worked for, lost..."the father looked up to see Viktor standing next to him, "...it's all your fault."

"My fault?"

The father strode to his son's side and grabbed the edge of his shirt, "If you'd trained your subject properly, we wouldn't be in this situation. If you weren't so weak-"

Viktor tore his shirt from his father's grasp and slapped his hand away, "I'm not weak. This was bound to happen because you insisted we keep a Resistance spy around."

The father stumbled back, "How dare you try to place blame on me! I thought you could handle it, but I see now you're still a child."

"A child?" Viktor hissed, "You think I'm a child?" He picked up the remains of a small metal filing cabinet and threw it to the floor beside his father, "Could a child carry out my experiments?" He caved in a charred table, "Could a child have finished the SS project?" Viktor charged his father, kicked him to the floor and pinned him down with the heavy boot he wore, "Could a child change the world, father?"

The father strained against the boot crushing him, "You didn't do anything. You're merely an assistant."

Shaking, Viktor pulled back. At his sides, his fists clenched and unclenched slowly, "Not anymore."

Viktor spat on his father's face and marched from the room. Stopping briefly to pick up his journal, Viktor made his way to the barracks. There, he grabbed a heavy medic's coat, dried food and a canteen of water. No one questioned him, he had been granted full access to the facility and everything in it.

He vowed then to start over. With nothing left, he could go anywhere. Then again, he had nothing. There was no denying that nearly everything he'd worked for was gone. What was frustrating was how he'd held the completed formula in his hand. How he'd been planning to test it tomorrow on a Nazi volunteer. He vowed revenge. Wherever he went, he decided that one day, he would find the Frenchman and torture him.

A fire raging in his heart, Viktor turned to Russia and started walking.

Meanwhile, Françoir Dufort curled up beneath a large bush. Even in the moonless night, he felt safer covered by the low, oval leaves. He didn't think he could make much more of the journey tonight. Escaping had taken more out of him then he'd expected. Breathing softly, Françoir removed a small briefcase from beneath his shirt. Carefully, he unlatched the case. Inside, three clear syringes and six labeled vials sat in neat rows. This was it, what he came here for. What he came here to stop.

Nearly a year ago, his superior had asked him to undertake a 'special' mission. Then, he hadn't known all the pain and torture he'd have to suffer to obtain the product. He thought it would be a simple in-out mission, nothing particularly difficult. Now, holding the product in his hands, he wondered what he should do. On one hand, he could take the formula and notes and deliver them to French scientists. They would probably re engineer it and use it to Allied advantage. On the other hand, he could destroy it and end the ordeal on the spot. Then, he could take the formula back with him and hide it. It would make an excellent leeway in trade. And, he could always tell his superiors it was lost in the lab fire...

Françoir snapped the case shut and tucked it under his shirt. He laid back on the soft dirt. As he drifted to sleep, he thought of how, in a few days time, he'd be home, and the world would soon forget the Super Soldier project was ever completed.

* * *

**Note: I probably won't update very quickly as school's started up again.**


	15. Battle Part 1

Before the sun rose, Miss. Pauling and the team filed into the large van parked just outside Hydro. Each mercenary once again had their preferred weapon sets. Scout, Demo, Soldier, Sniper and Pyro were using old weapons they'd found in Hydro's armory. Medic, Heavy, Spy and Engineer were all equipped with new weapons there'd brought over from France. Miss. Pauling held a custom revolver she'd managers to keep when she fled from Gray's forces. Almost in unison, they fidgeted with their weapons on the drive from Mann Co. facilities to the Gray Gravel factory.

Soon, they came to a tall fence guarding a massive warehouse-style factory. At two opposite corners, guard towers rose up to inspect the surrounding lands. White smoke drifted up from parts of the roof, signaling the factory's activity. Just before the factory, set of desert hills sloped out within the confines of the fence. Engineer maneuvered the van between two hills.

"Alrighty," Engineer said as everyone exited the van, "the factory's just over that hill. From what Ah know 'bout the factory, Ah think there's a loading dock for the tanks somewhere. We just need ta find that an head over to Gray's island."

Soldier started up the hill, "Follow me maggots!"

Together, the others fell in line with Soldier. At a fast jog, Soldier led the team along the perimeter created by the fence. Then, at a seemingly random point, he veered away from the fence toward the factory. Above, the guard towers scanned the area for possible intruders. Miraculously, the team passed underneath, completely unnoticed. Soldier looked back and gave a broad grin to his team mates.

"I'm surprised you still remember how to get in here," Miss. Pauling said.

Soldier tiptoed along the factory wall, "I also know where the tank dock is."

True to his word, Soldier led the team right to the mouth of the tank dock. As they rounded a corner, an enormous blue-gray tank started pulling from the dock. Soldier charged the tank. At the last second, he jumped up and grabbed onto a ladder at the edge of a metal cover for the tank's tread. He hoisted himself onto the cover, turned back, and motioned for the others to follow. Miss. Pauling was the first to go. She was followed closely by Spy, Pyro, Sniper, Scout, Medic, then Demo. Back with Heavy, Engineer stepped away from the tank.

"Come leetle man," Heavy said, "we must go."

When Engineer stepped back again, Heavy grabbed his midsection and hoisted the smaller man over his shoulder. Impeded slightly, Heavy rushed the tank. With one hand, he grabbed the ladder and hoisted himself and Engineer onto the platform. The two joined the others in sitting against the tank's wall.

"Thanks," Engineer mumbled.

The tank started off slow and accelerated once it hit the bridge to Gray's island.

In the center of a man-made lake was a rocky island covered in nothing but dirt and yellowed grass. Covering most of the island was a towering gray building clearly labeled Gray Gravel Co. in bold red lettering. Stretching before the building was a single metal bridge connecting the tower to the factory. At the end of the bridge, the tank slowed to a crawl, allowing the team it carried to get off.

Immediately, Sniper split away and took off toward one of the island's many rock outcroppings. After a bit of climbing, he reached the top and set up a small encampment. He shouldered his rifle and started to scan the base.

Using a short wave radio, he said, "Oi'm all set up."

"Good," Miss. Pauling radioed back.

As soon as they heard that, Scout and Pyro rushed ahead.

Soldier and Demo took their place at the front of the remaining group. Medic and Heavy walked behind them while Spy and Miss. Pauling brought up the back. At the center, Engineer shuffled along.

Up close, the base seemed eerily quiet. There were no robots, and only a few tanks made trips across the bridge.

"Somethin ain't right," Engineer said.

Spy looked up at the top of the tower, "Yes..."

They continued along the edge of the tower. A slight breeze whistled through the dead grass at the edge of the compound. All around them, nothing moved.

Snipers voice crackled over the radio, "There's a Heavy bot headin your way. It's movin pretty fast, want me ta shoot it?"

Miss. Pauling held down the talk button on her radio, "Hold up, we don't want to give off our position yet."

Then, a giant Heavy bot rounded the corner at top speed.

Soldier and Demo prepared for the bot. Miss. Pauling raced forward and grabbed each of their shoulders.

Soldier looked back, distraught. Miss. Pauling flashed him a look that said 'wait'.

"Should I shoot?"

"Wait," Miss. Pauling hissed into the radio.

The Heavy raised its fists as it drew closer.

Sniper's voice came across strained, "Now?"

"A few more seconds. We just need him out of range of that guard tower..."

A muffled crack echoed softly through the air. Just before Spy and Pauling, the Heavy bot's head exploded. Its body fell back with thud in the dirt. For several minutes, everyone held their breath. Suspense hung in the air as they waited for some sort of alarm. When nothing came, the team started to relax. The group by the downed bot started to move again.

Not more than twenty steps latter, Engineer started forward and held up his hands for the team to stop. He bent down and ran his fingers alongside a crease in the ground. Hidden inside was a faintly red laser sensor. Engineer looked back to his group, "He's expectin us."

The sound of sirens split the air. Soldier shoved Engineer back to the middle of the group.

"Move!" Medic commanded over the din.

In a rush, they moved toward the side door to Gray's base. Just before they rounded the corner, a wave of Scout bots rushed them.

Soldier reacted first, rocket jumping over the wave and landing on a bot in the back. With the remains of a Scout bot beneath him, Soldier began blasting away at the surrounding bots. Demo rushed forward and launched a volley of grenades to aid his friend. Behind him, Heavy revved up his minigun while Medic trained the medigun on him.

As they tore away at the Scout bots, Scout and Pyro rushed around the base of the tower. Several Soldier bots charged the two. All at once, the Soldiers fired.

Scout's eyes widened and he back pedaled at top speed. Pyro grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him to the floor. Above, Pyro got into a defensive stance. She switched her flamethrower over to airblast. Just before the rockets hit their target, a blast of compressed air sent them back to the Soldiers. The rockets hit their new targets, and the Soldiers went up in a ball of fire.

As parts rained down around them, Pyro set Scout on his feet, patting him reassuringly on the back.

"Thanks mumbles. But hey, warn me next time."

Pyro shrugged and continued to the side door.

Above the hoards, Sniper ducked behind a rock just as a bullet cracked against its face. He pulled a few more rounds from their carrying case and stuffed them in his vest pocket. Moments ago, he'd had no opposition, then, about thirty sniper bots had popped up on the opposite ridge.

He took a deep breath and shot above the rock's lip. He started shooting. One, two, three bots down. He crouched down again fast enough to avoid the hail of bullets flying above the rocks lip.

He pulled his radio toward him, "Miss. P, how's the fight on your end?"

"Oh, uh, pretty well," there were several cracks of a revolver, "There's a mix of Heavies, Pyros and Spies. Soldier and Demo have most of this under control, and Spy's got the Spies. Our Spy, I mean, he's killing the robot Spies."

Sniper set down the radio and picked off a few more Snipers, "Good that. There's a few Sniper bots here, but they're nothin Oi can't handle."

"Ok, what about Scout?"

A bit of static came over the radio before Scout's voice came through, "All clear hear Miss. Pauling. There were some bots, but nothin we couldn't handle. Otherwise...woah!"

There was a screech of metal on stone and Scout's voice cut out.

"Crap," Miss. Pauling said, "Sniper, can you see what's going on?"

"Yeah, gimme a minute..."

Sniper peered over the ridge of the rock to find all the Snipers had gone. He ignored the matter and turned his attention to Scout and Pyro. Two big black _things_ were approaching them. He couldn't make them out, but if he just adjusted his scope...

He heard a crunch of metal feet on dirt. Instantly, he whipped around, kukri drawn. What he saw was far from what he expected. A massive, black robot loomed above him. He couldn't make it out very well with the sun behind it, but from what he could see, it was armed with a long sword and some kind of flame thrower.

"What the hell..." He whispered.

The robot let loose a screeching roar and white hot fire spewed from small nozzles covering its body.

Sniper jumped back and exchanged his kukri for his rifle. He took several steps back and fired a round at the bot. The bullet pinged harmlessly off the robot's thick armor.

"Sniper? Sniper?"

The bot turned to the radio. It cocked its head and crushed the device beneath its three toed foot. Then, a thin metal arm lashed out from the robot's palm and swiped Sniper's glasses from his face. Instantly, the world was blurry. He shook his head and ran up a nearby embankment. As he ran, he stumbled on rocks and ledges. The robot lingered behind him as if giving him a head start. Then, it launched itself into the air and landed in front of Sniper.

The assassin backpedaled and landed hard on his back. The robot reached its fiery hand forward. Sniper scuttled back. He flipped onto his side and rolled down part of the hill. Rocks and coarse dirt scraped his face and arms as he went down. At the bottom, he scrambled to his feet and bolted toward the coast. Soon, he could feel the heat of the robot behind him. With a jerk, it speared through part of his shirt and pulled him back. Tongues of flame licked at Sniper's cloths. He tried to wriggle from his vest, but the robot had caught the skin on the back of his neck.

The bot brought its target up to eye level. Sniper looked into its lifeless red eyes. At first, the bot didn't appear to have a mouth, then, its face parted to reveal a short nozzle. Suddenly, the oxygen was sucked from the air. A ball of fire erupted around Sniper. He tried to scream, but no sound escaped his throat.

* * *

**Sorry I took so long to post this, for one reason or another, this chapter was hard for me. Also, battle scenes are not my forte...**


	16. Battle Part 2

Scout held down the talk button on his headset, "All clear hear Miss. Pauling. There were some bots, but nothin we couldn't handle. Otherwise...woah!"

Suddenly, a high pitched wail came through the receiver. Scout threw off his headset. He rubbed his ears to ease the ringing in his head.

Pyro tapped Scout gently on the shoulder. Scout lifted his head and followed Pyro's pointing finger.

On the horizon, two black robots charged toward them. One was small and built like a cheetah with a minigun mounted on its back. The other robot was covered in quill like spikes and had two automatic rifles attached atop its shoulders.

Scout ran out to meet the smaller robot in the middle. He ran right up next to it and blasted it twice with his scatter gun. The robot flinched. It skidded sideways and revved its minigun. Scout turned on his heel and sprinted away. The robot was right on his heels. It fired wildly, missing Scout completely as it ran.

"Heh, nice aim there-ah!"

A bullet lodged itself in the back of Scout's thigh. He stopped running and jumped back, over the bot. He landed on top of the minigun. Instantly, he flinched away from the burning metal of the gun. The bot whipped around. The barrel of its gun came to rest right in Scout's face. He kicked the bot back and rolled to the side. The bot growled. Its back leg lashed out. Sharp claws raked open Scout's stomach. He curled inward to staunch the bleeding.

The bot's head turned to Scout. With blood-soaked hands, he pulled his pistol from his pocket and started firing. With every round, chunks of metal ripped from the bot's head. When he ran out of ammo, he threw the pistol at the bot. Its head wrenched sideways and snapped back. It placed its front paws on Scout's legs.

The last thing he heard was a low growl muffled by the whirr of a minigun.

While Scout fought his robot, Pyro encountered the dog she'd met earlier. The large brown animal bounded toward her with its tongue hanging out its mouth.

As Pyro skipped toward the dog, a few streams of confetti flew past her. She swung her rainbow blower out in front of her. Once the dog was in range, she turned it on and a spray of rainbows and bubbles showered the dog.

The dog nipped at the bubbles while Pyro danced around it. Then, the dog came closer to the source of the bubbles. Pyro tugged the rainbow blower back, but the dog lunged forward and grabbed the main horn. She detached the rainbow blower from the bubble soap on her back and nudged the dog's nose away. The dog dropped the rainbow blower as Pyro pulled an oversized lollipop from her belt.

A string of confetti landed on Pyro's shoulder and her arm went limp. She shrugged it off, assuming the arm was just tired. She gripped the lollipop tightly with her awake hand and moved to give it to the dog.

Playfully, the dog batted away the treat. Pyro tisked the silly animal. A string of confetti landed on her leg and it went numb. She collapsed into a sitting position.

The dog trotted up to her and started licking her with its floppy pink tongue. Pyro laughed, scratching the dog's neck at it licked her. Warm saliva ran down her neck and chest. Soon, she found herself laughing so hard she had trouble breathing. Still, the dog kept licking and licking until Pyro fell asleep.

* * *

Miss. Pauling smacked the side of her radio, "Guys, we lost Sniper."

Soldier smashed a bot's face in with his shovel, "We lost the camper too?"

"Yup, looks like it's just us and Gray's army."

Soldier cackled, "I like those odds," he launched a rocket at his feet and flew above the hoard of incoming robots.

Medic ducked behind Heavy, "Vell, at least ve're almost to zhe door…"

A small wave of half-zatoichi robots charged the group.

Heavy brought his minigun around and trained it on the bots. Easily, he mowed down the metal men.

"Ha! Leetle robots are easy!"

From behind them, a massive Rapid Fire Soldier thundered their way.

Miss. Pauling dove out of the way. Spy grabbed Engineer and pulled him behind Heavy. Medic flipped around and activated the projectile shield. Heavy and Demo started firing at the bot while Soldier covered their back.

Spy slipped behind the robot Soldier and its Medi-bots. He quickly dispatched the Medic's while their Medic übered Heavy.

Heavy gave a defiant yell as electricity coursed through him. He marched toward the giant Soldier. The Soldier fired off rockets that bounced harmlessly off Heavy's skin.

With the Soldier's focus on Heavy, Demo and Spy were able to come in and dispatch the bot.

Spy sliced through a hydraulic tube in the bot's leg. The bot came crashing to the ground, taking Spy's knife with it. Spy groaned quietly before he ran back around behind Heavy. Quickly, he grabbed a Zatoichi from a destroyed Soldier bot.

On the ground, Demo and Heavy made quick work of the giant Soldier.

Once the giant robot was dispatched, a wave of Scout bots rushed in followed closely by Heavy bots. Behind them, wave after wave of Pyro and Demo bots poured in until the mercenaries were surrounded by an immense thrall of metal.

Several bullets tore into Soldier's arm. He screamed "Medic!"

The doctor turned to him and used the medi gun to heal the wound. "I don't think ve'll be able to hold here much longer."

Demo quickly patted out a fire starting on his leg, "Ack, doc's right. We're gonna get torn ta pieces."

Miss. Pauling ducked under a poorly aimed swing from a Scout bot's baseball bat. She kicked the bot back and fired two rounds into its power core "Come on guys. Just a few more meters to the door."

Then, the crowd of surrounding robots retreated slightly. None of them attempted to fight back as Soldier and Demo made quick work of their remaining numbers.

Demo slung his grenade launcher over his shoulder, "Ack, that was too easy. The bloody bots just gave up."

"Yeah," Soldier mumbled, "Bunch of cowards."

A screeching metallic scrape echoed off the walls of Gray's tower. The four mercenaries up front turned their heads in unison to the source of the noise. Four black robots shuffled toward the group. One on the far left was slender with smooth edges. The left center bot was massive and covered in giant meatal spikes. The right center one was surrounded in a dull grey shield and seemed to have machine guns on every point of its body. The right bot was the largest with thick metal plating, some kind of launcher for a hand, and a belt of oversized knives on its other side. They stopped thirty meters from the mercenaries.

Soldier stepped forward, "I don't know what the hell you are, but I'm going to send you straight back to the hell you crawled from."

The shielded robot stepped up and roared loudly.

Solder screamed in return and charged the bot. Demo added his voice to the call and charged as well. Heavy and Medic stayed back and stood their ground. They weren't letting anything get to Engineer.

The machine guns on the shielded bot clicked to life in a buzz of belt-fed bullets. Soldier immediately rocket jumped to avoid the shot. He sailed over the bots with a trail of bullets in his wake. He landed just behind the bot and fired a rocket at its back. The shield absorbed most of the rocket's damage, leaving the bot unharmed.

Soldier frowned and whipped out his shovel. He approached the bot. As hard as he could, he smacked at the bot's shield. The shovel passed harmlessly through.

There was a click from the bot. A hatch opened on the bot's back to reveal a set of six belt-fed machine guns. Immediately, they started firing.

Soldier rocket jumped again. As he did, some of the bullets grazed his shins.

Just to the left of the bot, he hit the ground hard and collapsed to his knees. "Come fight like a man you bastard!"

The shield on the bot went down. It sheathed its machine guns and drew a serrated machete.

Soldier propped his body up using his shovel "That's more like it."

The bot rushed Soldier, machete held high above its head. It brought the machete down on Soldier. Just before it hit, Soldier threw his shovel up and deflected the blow. He took a quick swing at the bot's legs. It jumped back beyond his reach.

Again, the bot darted in with the machete. Soldier deflected the attack again, but not well enough. The blade fell away from the main part of his body and lodged itself in his upper arm. The machete moved down and took a chunk of flesh from Soldier's arm.

Soldier let out a muffled scream. With his good arm, he batted the machete from the robot's hand. Both shovel and machete skidded across the ground.

The bot turned to the heavily bleeding Soldier.

"You cannot kill _me_ so easily cupcake!"

The bot grabbed Soldier's neck and hoisted him into the air. It's free hand changed into a pistol. It pressed the firearm to Soldier's forehead.

Gray Mann's voice came through its mouth "Any last words Jane?"

"Yeah. Make sure to salute when you see me in hell."

There was a chuckle from Gray as the bot pulled the trigger.

* * *

Demo was charging to the shielded robot when the spiked robot smashed into his side. The force threw his stickibomb launcher from his hands and sent him tumbling to the ground.

Demo scrambled to his feet and retrieved the grenade launcher from his back. He started firing the blinking grenades at the bot. When the grenades came close to the bot, small bolts of electricity shot from the tip of its spikes and disintegrated the grenades.

"Oh I see how it's gonna be," Demo said as he pulled the broad sword from his belt. He swung the sword between his hands "Come at me ya big metal ass!"

The bot slammed its fists together. It scraped one of its four hooves feet on the ground. Then, it charged.

Demo raised his sword and ran to the bot. There was a clash of metal as sword hit fist.

The bot tried to swipe the sword from Demo's hands. Refusing to relinquish the weapon, Demo was batted sideways with the sword.

He rolled his shoulders back and charged again.

The bot thrust out its outspread hands. Demo's sword connected hard on the opposing metal.

He recoiled back and swung. The bot easily deflected the swing before delivering a blow to his stomach.

Demo doubled over, feeling a break in his lower ribs. He straightened and swung again.

The bot grabbed the blade in its hand. Easily, it snapped the tempered steel. With its other hand, it took Demo's arm and pulled it back until it dislocated.

Demo screamed in agony.

The bot's hand encased his chest. It flicked him slightly so he dangled by his foot. It threw the demolitions expert into the air. Less than a meter from the ground, it slammed into his chest and crumpled his body into the ground.

* * *

The remaining two bots raced toward Heavy and Medic. The smaller of the two suddenly disappeared.

Medic and Heavy exchanged worried glances. Heavy tightened his grip on his minigun.

"I'll watch your back," Medic said.

Heavy nodded, focusing his attention on the metal plated bot. The bot stopped and aimed its launcher at Heavy.

Around them, the class-based robots encircled Spy, Engie and Miss. Pauling.

For a second, Heavy looked back at his team, then he opened fire on the large bot. Most of the bullets were deflected by the metal plating, the rest didn't hit their target. The bot let out a sound like a distorted laugh. It raised its launcher arm and fired.

Medic ducked behind Heavy as the rockets hit. Heavy staggered back, his wounds instantly healed by the medi gun.

Heavy laughed "Hah! Little baby robot cannot hurt Heavy."

Medic chuckled to himself. There was nothing like fighting with Heavy. Together, they were the perfect team.

Suddenly, the small robot reappeared and tackled Medic.

Medic was thrown to the ground. He and the bot rolled over, away from Heavy.

"Doctor!" Heavy whipped around to Medic. He swung the butt of his minigun into the bot on Medic. The bot flew back and disappeared again.

Heavy held out his hand to Medic. The doctor gratefully took it and jumped to his feet. He trained the medi gun back on Heavy. The two returned focus to the large bot.

Somehow, the bot had jumped closer in the split second Heavy had turned to Medic.

Heavy ditched his minigun in favor of his fists. Behind him, Medic clipped the medi gun to his back so he could draw the über saw. The two attacked the robot as one, slashing and punching the metal plates.

The robot roared. It swatted away the men like a horse flicking off bugs.

Heavy landed hard on his back with Medic flying only a few feet away. Before Medic could get up, the small robot was on top of him.

Heavy grit his teeth and stood to help his friend. Before he could get there, the large robot shoved him aside. Heavy stumbled backward before regaining his stance. He raised his fists as the bot pointed its belt of knives at him.

A knife shot from the belt, impaling itself in Heavy's upper arm. Heavy grunted and rammed his shoulder into the bot.

Behind the large robot, Medic grappled with the smaller bot. He lashed out with his über saw only to have it slide off the bot's smooth surface. The bot swiped at Medic with knife-like hands. He threw his hands up to stop the blades before they reached his skin. Grabbing the bot's wrists, Medic got his feet up under it and kicked up as hard as he could.

The bot flew back and scuttled away into invisibility. Medic turned to Heavy just in time to see him smash into the large bot. The bot staggered back, allowing Heavy to regain his composure.

Medic ran up behind the bot and drove his über saw into its shoulder blade. The bot roared and batted Medic aside. It fired two more knives into Heavy's chest.

Medic skid back. He saw the knives enter Heavy. He let out a scream as he kicked the bot's hand aside. Medic groped on his back for the medi gun. His hand swiped only air. Off to the side, he saw the smaller bot crush his precious invention

The larger bot swung back. It pushed Medic aside so it had a clear shot at Heavy.

Heavy ducked to the side, but not fast enough. Three knives embedded themselves deep in his left side, piercing his heart.

As he hit the ground, Medic watched Heavy die in slow motion. A knife flew from the bot. The silvery blade twirled through the air in a dance before it drove into his skin, right where his heart was. Heavy stopped for a moment, his face cast in pure shock. Then, Heavy let out a scream of pain and his body crashed to the ground.

Medic was paralyzed for a second. Then, all at once, rage flooded his system. He threw himself at the bot. With as much force as he could muster, he tore into the bot with his über saw. He kept hacking and hacking at the bot. He ripped out wires, tore apart metal and shredded every last part of the robot until it was little more than a pile of scrap.

Panting, Medic dropped the saw. He felt empty. Heavy had been the only person who'd trusted him, who'd treated him as a friend. Who'd been able to look past his background and give him a second chance.

In front of Medic, the small robot materialized again.

Medic glared at the bot, "Let's get zhis over vith."

Medic simply stood still with his shoulders down as the bot injected him with a clear liquid. His sight faded and he went limp. He fell to the ground in pain, but hardly registered it. Then, his mind went blank, and he fell unconscious.

* * *

**First off, thank you to everyone who's read this far! Also, special thanks to those who have reviewed, I love hearing from all of you. Second, we're coming close to the climax, not the end (yet). That's all for now, see you again when the next chapter comes out.**


	17. A Generous Offer

**Ok, over the past few chapters, I've been getting a lot of distressed messages because I've killed off most of the team. But remember, Engineer is still alive and he's going to turn the respawn back on!**

**Also, I love getting reviews from all of you! Whether they're reaction reviews or otherwise, I really enjoy hearing from my readers. Follows/favorites are also appreciate.**

**I know I've said it before, but I can't thank you enough for all the follows/favorites/reviews! It's more than I could have ever expected, thank you.**

* * *

Engineer, Spy and Miss. Pauling never saw Heavy and Medic die. They were too busy pushing their way through a cluster of robots.

All around them, grenades flew and bullets came too close for comfort. Yet, none of the shots were really directed at the group. It was almost as if the robots were fighting themselves.

Finally, they made it past the bots into Gray's base. Spy closed the heavy metal door and there was silence.

Inside was a small room resembling a lobby. Its walls were covered in an assortment of blueprints and drawings of the various robots Gray Gravel manufactured. A boxy couch was shoved up against one wall. In front of it was a glass coffee table covered in books.

An intercom clicked "Hello," came Gray's voice from the walls "It's nice to see _some_ of you made it in here. I was begging to think you're all as ignorant as my Scout bots. Well, since you _have_ made it so far, I think I'll make this last part easy for you."

On the far wall, the grate on the elevator opened with a ding.

"Come up. I'm waiting."

Engineer shrugged and headed for the elevator.

Spy grabbed Engineer's shoulder, "You're just going to walk into an elevator offered by the man trying to kill you?"

"Spy's right," Miss. Pauling said, "It's probably a trap."

The intercom clicked again "Jennifer, Françoir, please, have a little faith. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so by now."

Spy glared at Miss. Pauling. She shook her head.

Engineer sighed "C'mon fellas, let's just take the chance."

Spy held up his hand to Engineer, "Wait here." He stepped into the elevator. Carefully, he inspected the walls and floor before reluctantly stating it appeared safe.

Eningeer and Miss. Pauling filed into the elevator. Behind them, the doors clinked shut. Slowly, the elevator started its ascent.

Engineer waited patiently as an old fashioned meter counted the floors. Miss. Pauling turned her revolver over in her hands, staring mostly at the floor. Spy stood rigid with his hands clasped behind his back.

On floor thirty-six, the elevator stopped. Its doors slid open with a slight rattle.

The intercom click echoed through the elevator shaft, "This is your stop Jennifer."

Miss. Pauling peered down the dim hall. Spy tapped her lightly on the wrist and slipped something into her hand. Miss. Pauling nodded, stepping into the hall.

The elevator doors closed and continued up faster than before.

"I understand she's looking for her boss, yes? That should be interesting. Now gentlemen, this is where you get off," with a ding, the elevator doors slid back, "I'll see you in my office."

Before the mercenaries, a long blue-grey hall stretched to a set of dark wood doors. Unlike the lobby, the walls were bare and spotless.

Their footsteps echoed as they walked down the hall. Spy's steps were nearly silent while Engineer's boots fell heavily with every footfall.

They reached the door.

Spy drew his revolver and stepped in front of Engineer "Stay behind me."

He threw open the door and pointed his revolver around the room. Most of the room was covered in dated furniture and matted carpet. On one wall was covered in a variety of computer screens. Across from that was a framed portrait of Gray Mann. The wall opposite the door held a sliding metal door labeled Respawn. Aside from the staring portrait, there was no one in the room.

Engineer rushed to the computer and booted up its system. He grabbed a flash drive from a pocket in his tool belt and clipped it into the computer. The computer pulled up the respawn system just like it did in Teufort.

"Ah'm in," Engineer called to Spy.

Spy nodded, turning to watch Engineer's back. Keeping an eye on Engineer, Spy moved around the room. He checked behind the painting and under furniture for anything suspicious. When he reached the desk chair, he noticed an indent in its fabric. He reached out his hand to prod it.

Two narrow red eyes appeared just above the chair's back.

Spy backed away. He fired four times at whatever was in the chair. The bullets ricocheted harmlessly off an invisible surface.

The eyes moved up. Invisibility dissipated to reveal a slim black robot.

Spy stared at the robot. Something about its build seemed eerily familiar. If he didn't know better, he'd say it resembled his old mentor.

"Nakashima?" He breathed.

The robot grinned awkwardly. When it spoke, it had Gray's voice "I'm so glad you recognize my robot. I was worried the memories I have may have been corrupted."

The robot drew a katana from its back as it relaxed into a fighting stance.

Spy drew his zatoichi, settling into his own fighting stance.

They stood facing each other for exactly two minutes. Then, the robot attacked.

Spy did the same. With a clash of steel, the two blades met at the middle. Spy slid his zatoichi down so he could slip behind the robot. In an instant, the robot swung around. It brought its katana around, aiming for Spy's throat.

Spy jumped back, then lunged forward with the zatoichi. He was nearly to the robot's core when his blade was parried away. He twirled to the side to avoid losing a grip on the weapon. The robot made a quick slash for Spy's abdomen. He deflected the katana back and made an attack at the robot's shoulder.

The robot pulled its body sideways. In a backward spin, the bot slashed at Spy's arm. Just barely, he pulled his arm out of harm's way. With his other arm, he sent the zatoichi in an upward slash to the bot's abdomen.

The robot leapt into the air with the motion, sailing over Spy and landing gracefully behind him.

Spy could feel the robot's next attack before it happened. Swiftly, he spun around, knocking the katana from the robot's grip.

"Very well done," Gray said through the bot, "But sadly, not enough."

The robot drew a second katana from its back. In a fluid motion, it brought the blade from its back to Spy's chest.

He threw the zatoichi up to intercept the attack. His body jolted down under the force of the block. He adjusted his footing and pushed the robot away from him.

The robot stumbled a bit, but quickly regained its stance. It shook itself off and lifted its sword high above its head. It charged Spy, throwing its weight behind the katana as it brought its sword down.

Spy stepped into a defensive stance. He put up his zatochi to block a second time. When the two blades connected, there was a snap of fractured steel. A few inches above the zatoichi's hilt, a fracture appeared. Everything below the mark fell away, clattering to the ground.

The robot gave a twisted smile. It swung it katana around once before driving it up under Spy's ribcage.

* * *

Engineer may not have seen it, but he heard Spy die. He heard the metallic snap of a sword breaking, followed closely by the wet squelch of what he could only guess was a fatal stab. Then, he heard a _slick_ and a thump as a blade withdrew from flesh and left its victim in a lifeless heap.

Engineer felt his heart race. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck. His hands became hot as they flew across the keyboard. He was so close to completion. He just had to write one more line of code. One more password. One more one. One final zero.

With a finishing stroke, he slammed the enter button. His right hand flew to the activator key. His fingers tightened on the key. His tendons twitched to turn it. Eyes racing, he scanned the code one last time. Then...

"Oh Dell."

The black robot grabbed Dell's arm and pressed a gun to his temple. He froze. His breath came quickly. Fingers cramping from anticipation, he turned his head slightly. He knew that voice; Gray.

"If you would be so kind as to step away from that console, I have a proposal for you."

Dell grit his teeth, "Why should Ah listen to you?" He spat.

Gray stepped into Dell's peripheral vision, "All I ask is you hear me out."

"...alright...but Ah'm not leavin the console."

Gray shrugged, "Fair enough. Now, my offer. I'd like to propose you come work with me."

Dell turned the activator key halfway. The striker of a revolver clicked back.

"Why the hell would Ah work for you?"

Gray tisked, "Not for, with, Mr. Conagher. And why? Think about it. If you turn that key, everything goes back to the way it was before."

Some of the tension released from Dell's hand, "Whadda ya mean?"

"The Administrator is still alive, Dell. As soon as you kill me, she'll rehire you. Then what? She'll pit you against another team in another endless fight for the Teufort lands. It will go back to the same fight you've fought before. If you work with me, I'll give you the opportunity, the funding, to do whatever you want. All I ask is you aid me in a little project I've been working on."

Dell gave Gray a sideways glare, Ah dunno..."

"Before you decide, consider this; do you really want to die again?"

Dell's breathing slowed as his mind worked. Beside him, Gray waited patiently for Dell to decide. Code flickered across the console monitor, unfazed. The revolver eased off Dell's head as the robot dropped to the floor and began making repairs on itself.

Then, Dell turned the key, "So...when do Ah start?"

* * *

**I'm just gonna leave this chapter here... *runs***


	18. Welcome to Gray Gravel Co

Miss. Pauling crept down the halls of floor thirty-six. She had her revolver held up in both hands, ready for the first sign of danger.

So far, the floor seemed deserted. There were no signs of people, robots, or otherwise. The blue-grey metal halls were untouched and the floor was spotless. Aside from her footsteps, the hall was dead silent.

She was certain she'd been tricked when...

"Halt!"

At the end of the hall she'd turned down stood Bidwell and Reddy. They were wearing matching grey jumpsuits and holding automatic rifles pointed at Miss. Pauling.

Miss. Pauling's shoulders relax, "Oh good, it's you two. I thought you were some of Gray's men."

Bidwell tightened the grip on his rifle, "State your identity and purpose."

Miss. Pauling rolled her eyes, "Come on Bidwell, I don't have time for this. You know who I am."

Bidwell lowered his gun with a sigh of relief, "Sorry about the charade. I had to be sure you had your memories intact."

Reddy nodded, "We just got ours back a few days ago."

Miss. Pauling bobbed her head, "So, have you two been working for Gray?"

Bidwell slung his rifle onto his back, "Involuntarily. He wiped our memories and made us his minions."

"Great..." Miss. Pauling sighed, "Well, uh, could you guys help me find Helen?"

"We know where she is," Reddy said, "We'll take you to her."

Reddy turned on his heel and marched down the hall.

Bidwell matched his pace to Miss. Pauling's, "Where have you been since everyone disbanded."

"Hiding out with Engie. We jumped between the old bases for a while before settling in Gravel Pit."

Surprise flashed across Bidwell's face, "Engie's here?"

"We got the whole team together."

Bidwell gave a short laugh, "The whole team? I thought Gray'd killed everyone."

A nervous laugh escaped Miss. Pauling, "Well, he kind-of has...Engie and Spy went up to the control room to put respawn back online."

Bidwell smiled half-heartedly, "Let's hope he gets that done. We'll need back up to get out of here."

"Helen, we found Pauling." Reddy said as he knocked on a steel door.

With a click the door unlocked. Gently, it slid open. Behind it was the Anti-Sniper robot.

The group of assistants backed up, only to bump into the Anti-Heavy and Anti-Demo robots.

Miss. Pauling barely had time to raise her revolver before each of them were grabbed by the large, black machines.

Bidwell tried to wriggle from the Anti-Demo's grasp. After a short struggle, his shoulders fell, "Well, we've failed."

"Quiet, captive," the Anti-Demo droned in its metallic voice.

Miss. Pauling gave Bidwell a look that told him to keep his mouth shut. She tried shifting her arm around beneath her robot's grip. It was no use, she couldn't reach the pocket of her dress without breaking her arm.

The robots marched their prisoners down to the prison block. There, they met with a much smaller robot that carried itself in a manner similar to Spy.

"You finally found them?" It asked.

The Anti-Sniper nodded, "Yes."

"Perfect. Anti-Sniper, cell 1. Anti-Heavy, cell 3. Anti-Demo, cell 5."

On command, the robots distributes their prisoners into the Plexiglas cells.

Miss. Pauling's revolved was taken from her as the Anti-Heavy dropped her on the floor. Quickly, the bot retreated from the cell and sealed the door. Miss. Pauling stood and brushed herself off.

The smaller robot approached her cell, "Well, well, well, Miss. Pauling. What a pleasant surprise. Oh, but, not really. Did you think we were honestly going to let you walk around the base without consequence?"

Miss. Pauling glared at the bot. Despite being made entirely of black metal, its face was eerily human. Each detail of it, right down to the way it seemed to breathe gave the illusion the thing was alive.

"You look confused," it said, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jenjie, or better known as the Anti-Spy. I'll be here to watch over you until the prison guard is constructed. In the meantime, you're stuck here with me," the bot drew a jagged dagger, "and I'm rather a fan of torture."

* * *

Dell remove the respawn starter key from its ignition. He slipped the tiny key into the pocket of his overalls.

While he hated to admit it, Gray was right. If he turned on respawn, brought everyone back and killed Gray, it would just go back to the battle of RED vs. BLU. He would be stuck in that endless loop of fighting his family had been stuck in for generations.

Gray smiled at Dell, "You must be exhausted. Here, follow my personal Mecha Engineer. He'll make sure you're taken care of."

Dell nodded before following a shiny Mecha Engineer further into Gray's base.

The robot stopped next to a double door with a click, "You may clean up here. Then, I will bring you dinner."

Dell walked past the robot and through the door. Inside was a lavish tiled bathroom. In the center of the floor was a heated tub with a selection of faucets to dispense soap. Against one wall was a rain shower. On the opposite wall was a large sauna.

Dell smiled. Even though it was still early in the day, all the stress of the morning had exhausted him. This was exactly what he needed.

He stripped himself of his grimy uniform, rinsed the dirt from his body, filled the tub with a lavender soap and lowered himself into the warm water.

Instantly, a pang of guilt washed over him. Here he was, lounging in luxury while his friends had died trying to save him. Dell shook his head. They weren't his friends, they were his co-workers. They'd do the same in his position. Besides, they'd all essentially signed a contract accepting their deaths when they'd agreed to fight Gray. There was no reason for Dell to feel guilty because he was still alive and happy.

He took a deep breath and climbed out onto the tile. He took one of the towels from the wall, then quickly dried himself. Waiting for him on a bench was a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Happily, he put on the slightly oversized clothing. From his old overalls, he grabbed the respawn key and his flash drive. Slipping back into his work boots, Dell left the bathroom.

Waiting for him outside was the Mecha Engineer, "I will take you to your bedroom."

The bot marched down the hall. Dell followed at a leisurely pace. He couldn't help but smile to himself. Gray'd been treating him much nicer than expected. It looked like he was staying true to his offer of a partnership.

"Here is where you will sleep," the robot said, "You will have your own shop for work. Do not bother working here."

Dell peered inside the room. It was simply furnished, but had a plush double bed that looked nicer than anything Dell had ever owned.

Dell nods to the robot, "Thanks. If ya don't mind, Ah'm gonna sleep here for a while."

The robot beeped, "That is fine. If you need anything, push the blue button. I am your personal assistant, I will aid you."

"Can do," Dell said.

The robot saluted him before marching away.

Dell settled onto the bed. The mattress and fabric reminded him of sitting on a big marshmallow. He chuckled to himself. Now _that_ was an interesting county fair.

Reluctantly, he stood and slid the key and flash drive under his pillow. Dell stretched, then stripped down to his boxers. After being on the run for two years, nothing felt better than sliding into the warm sheets safe, sound, and worry free. As he drifted to sleep, the day's battle faded from his memory.

* * *

"Hello."

Dell opened his eyes to find himself in an open park green dotted with large oak trees. Beneath the largest tree was a small boy sitting on a stone bench.

The boy was dressed in all white with the exception of a gold halo around his dark hair. Behind him stretched a pair of white wings he had neatly folded so they didn't brush the ground. His amber eyes watched Dell closely from his place in the shade.

"Hello," he repeated.

"Howdy," Dell swept his gaze over his surroundings "Uh...where am Ah?"

The boy stood and smiled as his bare feet touched the grass "Dreaming. Or, I think people would consider this more of a vision really."

"A vision, is that why yer here? Ta give me some sorta guidance or somethin?"

The boy shook his head and approached Dell, "No, I just kind of happened by here really."

He sat down in the grass and patted the ground next to him. Dell took the offer to sit in the half sunned-grass. He couldn't help but feel like he'd seen the boy before. Yet, he couldn't quite place his face, it was just a nagging sensation that he _should_ know.

The boy looked to Dell, "I'm sad."

Dell watched one of the boy's hands absently pull grass from the ground, "Why're ya sad?"

"It's my dad, he's dead..."

"Oh, Ah'm sorry."

The boy looked Dell in the eye "Don't be. I'm dead too. I'm sad because he's in Limbo."

Dell shifted his sitting position "Limbo?"

The boy nods "Yeah, it means my dad can't die all the way. Like, something's keeping him from moving on. I saw him once, but now they won't let me see him until he's dead. They said it could hurt him."

Dell cocked his head "They?"

The boy stared at the ground with sad eyes "It's frustrating, I want to talk to him, but I don't want to hurt him either."

Dell furrowed his brow "Wait, kid, whose 'they'?"

The boy jerked his head up as if he'd heard a bell "I need to go."

"Wait, why?"

The boy smiled and patted Dell on the shoulder "You're about to wake up."

As he spoke, Dell's dream dissolved until he found himself staring at the cold steel ceiling of his room. He stretched under the sheets before sitting up. A dim light illuminated the grey walls. On the side table, the jeans and t-shirt from last night were folded in a neat pile.

Dell pulled on the cloths and moved the respawn key and flash drive from his pillow to his pocket.

"Are you ready to work?"

Dell jumped at the sound of the Mecha Engineer, "Uh, yeah."

The engineer marched out the door. Dell followed closely behind. For once, he felt ready for the day. He found himself excited to get to work. He'd been working on a design for cell phone that could get signal underground for a while, but it hadn't really gotten far. Now, with Gray's funding, he could finish and market the phone.

Gray was standing in the middle of his workshop, glaring at a set of chalk drawings.

"No, that's not right, I'd have to... Oh, hello Dell."

Dell gave a short wave, "Howdy. Whatcha workin on?"

Gray motioned for Dell to stand near him, "While my life-extension machine has been effective at keeping me alive all these years, it's not permanent. You see, at the rate I'm using Australium, I'll run out of my supply well before I'm done with my plans. Recently, I've been developing a machine to extend my life forever."

Dell looked closely at the blueprints, "How d'ya plan ta do that?"

Gray traced the edge of a drawing with his finger, "I've come up with a device to transfer my consciousness to the body of another. Then, whenever my body grows old, I'll get a new one."

Dell nodded. Scratching his chin, Dell peered at the formulas and diagrams at the chalkboard. His grandfather had been working on a similar device. "Most a yer design seems in order. Looks like ya might have some trouble with the power source, though."

"Hmm, yes. I thought there might be problems in that area. You see, I've-"

Dell's mind started to wander.

So much has happened in the past few weeks, it was almost too much to process. Before that moment, he hadn't thought much of it. He'd been too focused on the task at hand to really think about everything that had happened. Now that he had time to relax, things started to hit him one at a time.

In only a few short weeks, he'd come out of hiding, gathered the team, and attacked Gray. In that same time, he'd traveled across America twice and flown to France. Somehow, with such a short time, he'd learned more about his teammates than ever before. Soldier muttered in his sleep about a man named Parker. Heavy's past with Medic went deeper than Dell thought. Spy lost someone in France and had a dark history with Medic. Scout cared more for his family than he let on. And Pyro was far more disturbed than he'd realized.

Then, there was that boy. The kid who'd appeared in his dreams like a solemn omen. It bothered him how familiar the boy's face had appeared. Yet, he couldn't quite place why. It was almost as if-

"Dell? Dell? Are you paying attention?"

Dell snapped his attention back to Gray, "Uh, sorry. Ah suppose Ah'm a little distracted."

Gray slid the chalkboard into a wall, "Hmm, understandable. I must apologize, I was a bit too eager to jump into work. Come with me, I'll show you something a bit more hands-on."

Dell rubbed his eyes as he followed Gray. He'd felt fine just a second ago, now he was exhausted.

Gray glanced back to Dell as they walked, "I was anticipating your team's little attack yesterday. I knew that as soon as the memory suppressants failed, they'd come back to kill me. That's why I developed a new line of specialized robots. I call them the Anti series."

Gray threw open a set of double doors. Behind them was a group of eight black robots. Each had a distinct and menacing design. Dell recognized five of the robots from yesterday's battle.

Gray motioned to the bot that had killed Spy, "You see Dell, each of these robots was designed specifically to exploit the weaknesses of your teammates. I used the memories I extracted from them to program my robots' fighting styles. That's why they were able to easily dispatch your team when my other robots failed. This here is the Anti-Spy."

The robot leaned over to its master, "Jenjie."

Gray nodded firmly, "Yes, you do like your name, don't you. As I was saying. This is _Jenjie_. He is my favorite of the Anti-robots. First off, his AI is far more advanced than anything I've constructed before, and his mechanical systems? Well, take a look for yourself."

Dell peered closely at the robot. A surprising amount of detail was embedded in the bot's design. Everything, right down to the way it breathed, was designed to make it look human. It even rocked back and forth impatiently like a person would.

Dell scratched his chin, "This is a mighty fine piece a machinery ya got here."

"Thank you," the robot replied.

Gray smiled, "I'm glad someone appreciates my work. Not only are the mechanic's flawless, but I wove its memory with experience from your Spy, making it an excellent assassin. Speaking of which, I have the memories of your teammates archived in that room there," he pointed to a glass side door, "if you'd like to look through that."

Gray took a deep breath, "Anyway, I need to get back to work. Feel free to speak to my robots or flip through those files," Gray moved to leave, "Oh, and come find me when you're more focused."

* * *

**You didn't think Gray would betray Dell, did you? No, he's looking for a real alliance. Also, bonus points to anyone who can figure out who the kid in Dell's dream is...**


	19. Limbo

**Good news, I'm still here. In short, an unnecessary amount of essays have been stealing my time and will to write. Plus, this chapter's fairly long and takes time to edit and etcetera, etcetera. Anyway, let's take a break from the world of the living and have a look at how our dead mercenaries are faring.**

**So, without further ado, I present to you; Limbo.**

* * *

At first, he was in a void. A black, lifeless void where the only thing he was aware of was that he was in a void. He had no body, no senses, and he wasn't even sure if he was dead or alive. Then, a small white light appeared in the blackness. It grew brighter and larger until it gave off a blinding flash.

Slowly, Alex's senses returned to him. He could feel himself standing upright. A chorus of birds sang in the distance and the air was thick with the smell of dust and dry brush, and before he opened his eyes, Alex knew he was at his parents' house. When he opened his eyes, he would find a modest red farmhouse bordering the outback. Out front would be a fading wood porch with his mum's rocking chair on the right side.

Alex opened his eyes and blinked several times. He was at his parents' house, but it wasn't as he'd expected. His house wasn't red, it was white. The porch wasn't a brown stain, it was white. The sky wasn't blue, it was white. Then, a spike of fear ran through his heart. He snapped his head down to be sure he hadn't turned the same shade of white as the scenery. His heart skipped a beat. He was wearing white slacks and a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Then, to his relief, he realized he was still in color. He still had tanned skin and a black spot on his thumb nail.

"Somethin spooked you?"

Alex brought his head back up. Sitting on the porch in a rocking chair was his mother. Funny thing was though, he could have sworn she wasn't there the first time he'd looked.

Martha rose from her chair, "Gone mute, have you?"

Alex walked up the porch and stared at his mother, "Mum, you're alive."

Martha chuckled, "No Alexander, you're dead."

"Oh, yeah, right…that."

Martha pulled out of the hug so she could pat Alex on the back, "No need to sound so upset, Heaven's a lovely place."

Alex started with a small chuckle that slowly escalated to a full on laugh. Soon, he was doubled over and clutching his side from laughing so hard.

After a good few minutes, Alex straightened and rubbed the tears from the edges of his eyes, "Mum, Oi love you, but there's no way in hell Oi'm gonna end up in heaven."

Martha raised an eyebrow, "Oh really? And why's that?"

"Mum, Oi may not be a crazed gunman, but Oi still kill people for a living. Oi don't think that exactly opens up the gates of heaven."

"Mmmh, then do you have any ideas as to why you are going to heaven?"

"What do you mean?"

Martha tugged at Alex's sleeve, "Someone decided to mark you for Heaven."

Alex looked down at his white outfit, "Wait, so, Oi'm really goin ta heaven? But, Oi don't understand…oh, it's probably because of..."

"Because of what?"

Alex rubbed the back of his neck, "Oi, eh, may be responsible for savin all those people when the bus crashed a couple years back in Victoria."

"That was you?"

"Yeah. Oi was drivin behind it when it swerved off the road. Oi pulled over and helped get everyone out. Then, I left before anyone could associate me with the rescue. Oi try to keep it on the down low."

Martha hugged Alex again with a few tears clinging to the edges of her eyes, "I'm so proud of you Alexander."

Alex bent down a little so he could properly hug his short mother, "Thanks mum."

Martha whispered over Alex's shoulder, "I don't care what anyone else says, did raised you right. You're a good boy, Alexander. There's no question as to why you're going to heaven."

Alex gave a small smile, "Yeah, Oi guess so."

Martha patted Alex's shoulder, "That's more like it. Now, I've got to go, but hang in there Alex, I'll be back."

She reached up and kissed his cheek, "Love you, Alexander."

Alex stands, dumbfounded, on the porch as he watched his mother disappear. Somehow, his mind was still stuck on the fact he was dead, and he barely even processed that he'd be going to heaven.

* * *

Jackie couldn't breathe. His throat was closing up and his heart threatened to beat from his chest. This was it, he was dead. There was no respawn or crazy doctor to bring him back to life. This was the end, and there was still so much he hadn't done with his life, so much he'd meant to do. He'd never got the chance to make a life for himself, or get rich, or become famous. He hadn't even had the courage to ask Miss. Pauling on a date.

Now it was too late.

Jackie sucked in several failed breaths. He doubled over and stumbled into the row of seats in front of him. He toppled over, landing hard on the concrete floor. His chest tightened as his throat constricted his breathing. If he wasn't so tense, he was sure he'd be sick.

"Doin alright there, Jackie?"

The feeling of panic ebbed. Jackie recognized that voice.

Ronald's face appeared above Jackie's, "Are ya just gonna lie there?"

Jackie pried himself off the ground. With a quick look around, he realized he was in Fenway Park in Boston, but it was all white instead of being in color. Well, there was one color; the black t-shirt he had on.

He refocused on Ronald, "What're you doin here Ronald?"

Ronald held up his hands in surrender, "Woah, no need to attack me like that. I mean, are ya even gonna say hello?"

"Why should I," Jackie said with his arms crossed, "You're the one freakin attacking me. This is my death, leave me alone."

"Jackie, I get it, you're scared, but there's no need to-"

"Scared? Me? No way."

Ronald raised a skeptical eyebrow, "Really? 'Cause you sound like your gonna start cryin."

Jackie threw his arms in the air, "What? No! I'm not scared, this is just how I sound when I'm pissed off."

"Oh yeah? Are ya pissed 'cause your sorry ass got whooped by a robot."

Jackie groaned and stomped in circle, "Yeah! I mean, no! I-I-I," he stumbled as he thought of someone to blame, "I-I'm pissed at you!"

"Mmh, and whaddid I do?"

"You went off and freakin died!"

Ronald sighed, "I guess you don't want me here then."

He turned and started walking up the stairs to the exit.

Jackie heard the footsteps and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw Ronald walking away, his posture slumped. He took a deep breath, "Ronald, wait."

Ronald stopped and turned back with his arms crossed, "What?"

"I...I ain't pissed 'cause you died, I'm pissed 'cause ya left me alone. When you died, everyone started pickin on me again. Like, you know, teasin me and stuff 'cause I was the runt."

"So, basically, you're pissed 'cause I died."

"Yeah…no," Jackie sighed, "If ya hadn't gone out with Sal…"

"Jackie, what happened, happened. There's nothin you nor I can do about it."

"Yeah but-"

"But nothin. You need ta learn how to accept crap and take it head on. Ya can't keep usin your age as an excuse."

Jackie turned his back to Ronald, "What? No. Like, I can take crap, but, it's just, like, hard. I ain't as strong, or smart, or tough as the otha guys."

Ronald moved so he was in front of Jackie again, "What otha guys?"

Jackie stared at the ground, willing himself not to break down crying. Much to his embarrassment, a couple tears escaped his eyes and traveled down his face. With a scowl, he rubbed them from his face, "Like, you...and Ben, and Harley...and Rich, and Al and Spy and the team and like, every otha guy. Everyone's basically better than me. And I never got to show 'em that I can be great too 'cause I had to go and friggin die."

"So, you ain't pissed at me, you're pissed with yourself 'cause you keep judgin yourself by everyone else?"

"No! I just, wanna be the best… and I ain't. And, like, I'll never get ta be bettah than," Jackie gestured to himself, "this."

Ronald pulled Jackie into a side hug, "Hey, it's alright Jackie. You turned out pretty well, I mean, you got ta be older than me, and more handsome."

Jackie gave a half smile, "Yeah, I guess…"

"And, ya nailed a pretty sweet job. Plus, I don't think I've ever seen anyone run as fast as you."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I am pretty great!"

Ronald smacked Jackie on the back, "That's the spirit. Now, hey, I gotta go, but you just keep stayin strong, and I'll see ya at the end a this."

Jackie coughed a bit, but stayed smiling. "Thanks man."

Ronald gave a nod of acknowledgment and disappeared.

* * *

Ignacia was confused. Just a minute ago, she'd been playing with a dog in a wonderland of sound and color. Now, she sat on the floor of an endless expanse of white, alone and unstimulated in nothingness. Then again, it wasn't all that bad, she wouldn't have to deal with people she didn't like anymore.

Ignacia sighed and took a look around. At first, she thought she was alone, but she quickly noticed there was someone beside her.

A little boy in all white sat beside her. His caramel eyes were focused on some point in the distance, and he kept his legs curled up under him so he could rest his chin on his knees.

Ignacia reached over and gently touched his arm.

The boy picked his head up and turned his face to Ignacia, "Hello."

Ignacia cocked her head, "Who are you?"

The boy smiled warmly, "I'm Angelito"

Ignacia nodded. Then, the glint of a gold circlet around his head caught her eye.

She pointed to the circlet, "Can I see that?"

Angelito pulled the circlet from his atop his dark hair and handed to Ignacia.

"It's called a halo," he explained.

Ignacia turned the halo over in her hands. It was small and thin with a warm glow surrounding it like a veil. She reached up and placed the halo on her head. Instead of falling off as the too small ring should have, the halo floats just above her head.

Ignacia gasped, "It's beautiful."

"You can keep it if you'd like. I have more."

Ignacia hugged Angelito, "Thank you."

Angelito reached up so he could hug her back, "You're welcome."

Ignacia pulled away from the boy. She looked around the room again. A pressing question popped into her head.

"Where'd everything go?" She asked.

"Well, it's all back on earth."

Ignacia frowned in thought, "So, are you an alien."

"No. You're dead."

"Oh," Ignacia pulled her legs up under her and looked ahead blankly, "Are you sure?"

Angelito nodded, "Yes. This is a funny little place where people go after they die, but when they also still have ties to life."

Somehow, that made sense. Even though she's never died before, Ignacia knew this wasn't what being dead was supposed to be like. Her mother had always told her that heaven was more beautiful than life. Since this place wasn't much to look at, she guessed it had to be that in between place, like Angelito said.

Ignacia twirled a strand of her long black hair through her fingers, "Why are you here."

"Well, when you end up in this half-death, you always meet a family member or close friend who's already dead to help make the experience s little less traumatizing. Since there was no one to send to you, I came. I'm an angel. I help people who've been hurt, who are in trouble, or who've died."

Ignacia toyed with the edge of her white dress, "Oh, that's nice."

Suddenly, Angelito looked up with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. He shot to his feet and looked down at Ignacia, "I have to go now."

"Why."

"There's someone else I have to go talk to. And it's super important because he's…never mind. I'll be back to talk later, ok?"

Ignacia nodded. With a quick smile, Angelito disappeared.

* * *

At first, it didn't register he was dead. He was in the middle of the forest he'd seen so many times in his head. The same forest that towered high in a collection of pine and maple to create a sparse canopy in the air above. Down below, the ground was damp from a recent rain that brought out the scent of rot from beneath the fallen leaves. Everything was on the cusp of winter, but firmly refusing to turn yet. In the air hung a low, light fog that gave the crisp morning a damp cold that muted the wildlife just starting to wake.

Yes, Jane had revisited this forest a thousand times. Over, and over, and over in his head. Sure this time the forest was completely white, but Jane could recognize the forest anytime, no matter what. He'd seen it in dreams, in memories and in hallucinations. Always the same forest. And he knew if he just turned ninety degrees to the left...

"Hey Solly."

Jane turned his head to find Parker exactly where he knew he'd find him, but not as he'd expected. Parker was wearing his green formal officer's uniform instead of regular brown fatigues. The rest of his men were gone and he was leaned up against the sturdy trunk of a maple.

"This isn't right," Jane muttered.

Parker pushed himself away from the tree, "What isn't, Sol?"

Jane moved so he was close enough to jab his finger into Parker's chest, "You are. Every other time I've had to relive this, you've been exactly the same. Now you're different and that's not gonna fly."

"But Solly, this ain't no memory relapse. You're dead."

Jane slowly leaned away from his friend as a blank expression overtook his face, "Dead?"

"Yeah. Don't you remember dying?"

Jane shrugged, "On average, I die five, maybe six days a week. This is just a regular Tuesday afternoon."

Parker nodded, "Fair enough. But this time, it's for real."

Jane crosses his arms as he looks around the forest. So this was the afterlife. It wasn't quite as he'd anticipated, mostly because he's always expected his end to be more hellish. Unless, maybe he was one of the great American heroes. That would explain why he wasn't burning in hell.

"Parker, I think I understand now. The universe has acknowledged my great patriotism and anointed me with the honor of an American hero. That is why I'm not in hell right now."

Parker slowly nodded, "Walk with me, Solly."

Parker started off through the forest and Jane followed alongside him.

"Remember when we met here, Sol?"

Jane nodded, "I never stopped remembering it."

"Mmh. Remember how I drew a gun on you because I thought you were a Nazi?"

Jane chuckled, "Yeah. And remember how I had to look up at you because I was so short?"

"Yeah...Hey, you know, I've always called you Solly, but I never bothered to ask; do you even like being called that?"

Jane nodded, "I do, but only by you and the guys."

Parker nodded and let their conversation end there so they could just walk.

Jane watched Parker as he strolled through the trees. He walked confidently with his shoulders back and his back straight. If it was possible to have someone nearly the same as Jane be his hero, Parker was it. Though they were similar in many ways, there was just something about Parker that gave him an air of greatness.

Parker tilted his head up a bit and started hummed for a second before singing, "Hurrah for the flag of the free. May it wave as our standard forever," he paused for a second so Jane could join in.

A smile spread across Jane's face as he and Parker sang.

_The gem of the land and the sea,_

_The banner of the right._

_Let despots remember the day_

_When our fathers with mighty endeavor_

_Proclaimed as they marched to the fray_

_That by their might and by their right_

_It waves forever._

_Let eagle shriek from lofty peak_

_The never-ending watchword of our land;_

_Let summer breeze waft through the trees_

_The echo of the chorus grand._

_Sing out for liberty and light,_

_Sing out for freedom and the right._

_Sing out for Union and its might,_

_O patriotic sons._

They held onto the last note until they both broke down laughing.

Parker took several short breaths to ease his laughter, "Damn, I can't believe you still remember the words."

"I can't believe you can still sing."

They stood for a long moment in near silence as their breathing calmed. Around them, the only sound to be heard was the faint hum of insects as they moved through the air.

Then, Parker took a deep breath, "Hey Sol, I gotta tell you that you're up for review."

"Review?"

"Yeah, it's this thing where they decide if you're gonna be rewarded or punished for what you did when you were alive. That's why you're wearing black, to let me know that they still haven't decided for you."

Jane nodded absentmindedly, not really caring much about the 'review'. For the most part, he was just content to be back with his old friend. It was nice to be back with someone who shared the same views and opinions as him. That and maybe having Parker around would stop him from having to relive those stupid war memories.

Jane took a deep breath, "It's good to have you back son."

Parker chuckled, "Did you miss me when I was gone?"

"Yes. You are the best man I've ever served with."

"Thanks. You aren't half bad yourself."

Parker looked up at the white sun above as it moved quickly across the blank sky. He sighed, "Alright Solly, I gotta go. But don't worry, we'll talk again soon. I'll see you when you die all the way."

With that, Parker saluted and disappeared.

Jane stood at attention and saluted the empty air, preparing to wait patiently for his friend's return.

* * *

Tavish couldn't stop laughing. There was something about his death that was just so _funny_. He couldn't decide which part was his favorite. Maybe it was the way he'd been flung into the air or how he'd flailed wildly before being slammed into the ground. Maybe though, it was the way he'd been squished like a bug on the concrete before blacking out.

Whatever the case, it was hilarious. So much so that he didn't realize his surroundings until he stumbled into a shelf. The sudden pain brought him out of his drunken state and forced him to look around.

It took him roughly two seconds to realize where he was. Based off the gothic style trim and wrought iron fixtures, he was in Castle Merasmus in Scotland, but it was in the afterlife. No, the afterlife had color. This had to be one of the midways.

Tavish scanned the white space. Since he'd grown up around a variety of ghosts and spirits, he had a fairly ample knowledge of what happens after death. The question was, which midway was he in?

Since there was no color, it had to be either Limbo, the Grey, or Redemption. The white narrowed it down to Limbo or Redemption. Yet, since it resembled a place from his past, it could only be one thing.

"Limbo," he muttered.

"Hey, ya figured it out!" From around the corner strode a massive, Scottish warrior. Around his waist was a gray patterned kilt. His top was bare and he had a hulking war axe slung over his muscled shoulders.

Tavish's face lit up, "Eyelander!"

Eyelander clapped Tavish hard on the back, "Good ta see ya finally dead, lad."

Tavish smiled, "I know, it took me a bit longer than I thought. So, when do I get ta start haunting?"

"Don't get ahead a yerself lad, ya still have ta go visit the ol' devil himself," he prodded Tavish's chest.

Tavish looked down at himself. He was wearing nothing but an all red version of his family's kilt. Instantly, he felt self-conscious of the way his stomach hung over the kilt's waistline.

"Don't worry lad," Eyelander said, "Ya get ta choose yer outfit when ya become a ghost."

Tavish pulled at the edge of his kilt. He recognized the significance of the red clothing, he just wasn't quite sure why, "Eh, why do I have ta go to hell?"

"Well, you've got to die before you become a ghost."

Tavish raised an eyebrow.

Eyelander crossed his arms, "Well ye aren't dead yet. Yer stuck in Limbo."

"Oh. Right, I knew that. When do I get out?"

Eyelander shrugged, "When you die, I guess."

Tavish nodded slowly, "Ah… D'ya know when that'll happen?"

Eyelander shook his head, "Yer just gonna have ta hang in there till ya die."

"I can wait."

"Good, now, I've got me next haunting in five. See ya when yer dead lad," he said as he disappeared.

Tavish took a deep breath and reclined in a chair to wait.

* * *

Misha knew exactly where he was. He was dead. Though he felt the same as when he was alive, he knew he was dead. He'd left his body and moved on. He knew he was dead, he just hasn't expected death to be like this.

He was standing in his library at his home in Russia. The air hung heavy with the smell of old paper and a dying fire. The walls, books, floor and ceiling were the same shade of white as the shirt he wore. It was strange, but there was nothing particularly malicious about the space, it just was.

Over on his personal arm chair, Misha noticed a crop of brown hair peeking over the back. He moved around the chair so he could get a better look at the person.

Perched on the coarse white fabric was a slight woman who seemed to have a permanent look of disapproval etched into her face.

Her head snapped to Misha "Hello."

"Hello. Who are you?"

The woman stood and straightened her crisp white suit, "You may call me Ms. E. I'm here to welcome you to the afterlife."

Misha crossed his arms "I already know I'm dead. I do not need a welcoming party."

"Perhaps, but do you know where you're going?"

Misha raised an eyebrow, "I'm going to where people go when they die."

Ms. E came right up to Misha and looked up at his face, "I mean, do you know if you're going to heaven or hell?"

"That's not for me to decide," Misha said as he turned to browse the bookshelf.

Ms. E peered around his shoulder, "Yes, but you must be curious as to _why_ you're going to those beautiful golden gates."

Misha removed a novel from the shelf. He flicked it open to a random page to find that, like the page, the text was white. With a sigh, he returned the book.

He'd never put much thought into where his soul would end up when he died. If asked in life, he'd just shrug and say it didn't matter. Yet now, he found himself wondering what he'd done to deserve a place in heaven. If all he'd read was true, people had to do something particularly righteous to get into heaven.

"Alright. What did I do that was so good?"

Ms. E opened a file folder that materialized in her hand, "Let's see. Overall, you have some very interesting records. It starts out well, defending younger peers from harm, standing up for your rights as a human, risking your life for your sister. Then," she squints at the folder, "it gets a little fuzzy. Very mixed in this part. Let's see, taking a flogging for your mother, giving up your food for others wellbeing, then there's this little snag. Torturing a group of guards to death, starting a fire that killed several people, and, ooh. Did you really gouge out a man's throat with your bare hands?"

Misha nodded.

Ms. E cringed, "Moving on then. Your situation seems to pick up from there. See, killing for self-defense is generally excused. Motive is always considered, so most of your defense records check out. Overall, you're devotion to the wellbeing of your loved ones is what tipped the scales for Heaven."

Misha furrowed his brow, "But many men have loved their families who we'd consider evil."

Ms. E shrugged, "Well, it also helps that I opted to review your case. I _might_ have put in a good word for you."

"Why would you do that for me?" He asked as he sank into his armchair.

"You helped my son, I help you now," she snapped the folder shut and it disappeared in a puff of smoke, "Simple."

Ms. E turned on her heel and marched to the door, "Now, I really must be going. I'll see you on the other side."

With a snap, she vanished in a flash of light.

Misha relaxed into his chair. Of all the people to go to heaven, he was one of them. Though surprised, he was grateful he wasn't going to hell. Now all he hoped was for his friends to be awarded the same fate.

* * *

Viktor was almost certain he was in his old lab in Germany. The furniture, papers, ashes and glass shards were in the same place as the day he left. The only difference was that everything was white. Every detail, every crack was the same shade of dull white.

"Well, well, well, look who finally died."

Viktor tensed. He knew that voice all too well. Slowly, he turned to find his father leaning against the wall wearing a deep crimson lab coat. Viktor's stomach churned. He hadn't realized how much he's come to look like his father as he'd aged.

His father pushed himself away from the wall, "You know, they had to drag me from hell to be here. The least you can do is say hello."

Viktor glared at his father "Hello."

His father smiled, "There, that's better. We may be damned men, but that doesn't mean we don't have _some _level of civility."

Viktor shook his head, "Of course I'd get stuck with you in the afterlife."

"Oh come on Viktor, don't be that way. We're finally on the same level. I mean, look at us."

He waved his hand a bit and a large mirror materialized to show Viktor and his father side by side. His father had slightly sharper features, but they were identical, right down to the red coat they wore.

"Looks like I raised you right after all."

A smirk flicked across Viktor's face, "I wouldn't exactly call locking your son in a morgue for three days 'good parenting'."

His father's smile faltered "Everything I did was for your own good."

"For my own...are you blind? I've never had any friends, because of you. I'd never had a birthday party, or a family vacation, or anything normal kids had because, of, you."

His father chuckled "I don't see what your problem is. There's nothing _wrong_ with that."

Viktor turned away from his father, "Oh isn't there?"

His father placed a hand on his son's shoulder, "What's got into Viktor? You're usually not this bitter. Is it...oh, are you still mad at that French spy?"

"I don't know."

His father moved to Viktor's side, "Well, whatever the reason I was hoping we could put our differences aside and work together."

Viktor let out a slow breath, "If you're looking for forgiveness, you won't find it in me."

He stretched out his hand to Viktor, "I'm not asking for forgiveness, but if we're going to burn in hell, we might as well burn together."

Reluctantly, Viktor took his father's hand, "Deal. But this time, I'm not your assistant."

His father laughed, "Deal. I'll see you in hell."

With a snap of his fingers, Viktor's father disappeared in a cloud of red smoke.

Viktor sat on the floor of the lab. He hated his father, that much hadn't changed, but now, something was different. Whatever he'd done to earn his father's approval, it felt good. Now he was going to show his father what a doctor of his caliber could really do.

* * *

Only one thing was certain, he was in a train station. A generic train station that one could honestly find anywhere in France. It had a carved tunnel like ceiling and two stations for arriving and departing trains. In the center was a row of benches for people to use as they waited. The only difference between this generic train station and every other generic train station was that it was devoid of color. Everything inside, from the floor to the benches to the railway had definitive shape, but was the same shade of white as everything surrounding it.

Françoir craned his neck around the station. Was this what death was like? A bland, generic train station? If so, he found himself hoping there was death in the afterlife.

He looked down at himself. He was wearing a black polo, black slacks and black loafers. Tentatively, he brought his hand up to his face. The mask he'd worn earlier was missing.

Françoir brought his hand down. So far it seemed noting was going to happen. He shrugged and decided to go ahead, sit and wait for a train that may or may not come. Slowly, he set off for the nearest bench.

As his perspective of the room changed, something else came into focus. There, on one of the benches behind a lamp post, was a little boy wearing the same shade of white as the room.

Françoir stopped. He recognized the boy, but, no, it couldn't be possible, could it? Yet, the more he stared, the more likely it seemed...

The boy turned his head and smiled "Allo papa."

Françoir stood with a mixture of shock and disbelief. "Nicolas?"

The boy got to his feet and ran to Françoir. He wrapped his arms tightly around Françoir's waist. "I knew it was you papa."

Françoir slid down to give Nicolas a proper hug. He stood again, this time bringing Nicolas up into his arms. He tried several times to speak, but couldn't find the right words.

Nicolas pulled back a bit so he could better see Françoir's face, "A bit hard to believe, isn't it. That's ok, it'll all make sense in a little bit."

Françoir shook his head "It's not that, I just can't believe I'm here with you. That you're here. I-I thought I'd never see you again."

He pulled Nicolas into a tighter hug. He felt that if he let go, Nicolas would disappear and he'd be alone again forever.

Nicolas rested his face on his father's shoulder, "Its ok papa. Everything's going to be ok, because in a little bit a train is gonna come to see Maman and everyone else."

"We are? When will that happen?"

Nicolas but the edge of his lip "Soon, I think."

Françoir didn't know what to say. His mind was a mix of thoughts and emotions. He was overjoyed to see his son, but it had been so long it almost felt out of place. He couldn't think of an appropriate response to a six year old who should be bordering thirty. Besides, so much had happened between then and now, he wasn't sure if Nicolas would recognize his personality.

Nicolas wriggled from his father's arms, "How about we go sit down."

Françoir nodded and allowed himself to be led to the bench.

Nicolas cuddled into Françoir's side, "It's ok to be confused. Most people are when they die. You can ask me stuff if you want."

Françoir shook his head. All he wanted to do was sit there and focus on the warm feeling in his chest. How long had it been since he'd felt like this? Months, years, decades? He couldn't even remember anymore.

Nicolas took a deep breath, "We can just sit here if you want. I'll understand."

Françoir nodded.

Nicolas rested his head on his father's shoulder.

Françoir wrapped his arm around his son. Suddenly, he wanted the train to come right now. He wanted to see his sister, his mother, his wife, and his father. He wanted to be back with his family. More than anything, he wanted to talk to everyone again.

"When is the train coming?"

"Soon," Nicolas said.

Françoir tapped his foot on the ground a bit. Then, a sharp pain ran through his abdomen from where Nicolas was resting. Françoir calmly pressed his free hand to his side.

The boy recoiled sharply, "I should go."

"Wait, please don't go."

Nicolas ran over to the edge of the station platform, then looked back, "I'll be back when the train comes, I promise."

Nicolas disappeared in a wisp of white mist, leaving Françoir alone with an empty feeling.

* * *

**Note: Jane and Parker sing a section from the song Stars and Stripes Forever.**

**As always, comments, reviews, criticism and feedback of any kind is always appreciated. Thank you all so much for reviewing and continuing to read my story.**


	20. Figuring it Out

**So, a couple of things I should mention. 1) Special thanks to LostPhysics for pre-reading some parts of the last few chapters! 2) I'm going to try and publish one chapter per week since there's a novel length fanfiction competition on Inkitt, and I'd like to enter since there's a chance of winning some money (That's not the only reason I want to enter, but it's a good reason, no?) 3) According to my crude plan of the next few chapters, there's only 2 more chapters, then the epilogue, so we are, in fact, nearing the end.**

**That's all I have to say. Back to Dell and the world of the living.**

* * *

The click of the door shutting was like gunfire in Dell's mind. He doubled over, threatening to throw up. What was he doing? How could he just leave his teammates to die? And why hadn't he realized it earlier?

The logical side of his mind stepped in. There was nothing he could have done at the time, a gun had been pressed to his head and he'd been essentially threatened. It had been a matter of his life or theirs. The reasoning was so simple, why didn't he just accept it?

He knew the answer to that. It was because for all he tried to convince himself his teammates were just coworkers, he knew he was lying to himself. Those people had been more than just coworkers, they were people he'd relied one, lived with, and trusted. He'd thrown that all away, for what? The prospect of an engineering partnership.

Then, the part of his mind that honestly scared him stepped in. It reminded him that for all the trust he'd placed in his team, they were still just a band of mercenaries bound by money. Sure they'd become friends, but only to keep from going insane on base. It wasn't like they were there for each other, they were only there for a job. The others, as well as Dell, had thought of each other as mere terms of a contract. Dell knew there was no disputing the fact, he'd seen it in the approach they'd given the battle, it was the same formulaic approach they'd given him. In their eyes, he was just the engineer, all he was good for was fixing broken machines.

Besides, how many times had he been left alone to defend with only the company of his sentry? How often had his teammates screamed at him for where they needed teleporters or dispensers on the battlefield? And how many times had he been blamed for their loss when it really wasn't all his fault? All that coupled with the fact that the only person who talked to him regularly was Medic, made Dell feel left out of the team. Maybe it was better if he was on his own. Then at least he'd have some sort of recognition and…

Dell's thought process was suddenly interrupted when he was yanked to his feet by the impatient Jenjie.

"If you're going to be sick, don't do it on the floor."

Dell shook his head, "Ah'm fine. Just havin some, uh, second thoughts."

The robot raised an artificial eyebrow, "Second thoughts?"

Dell sighed and started walking around to see the other robots. Each one was uniquely crafted with a human-like form. From what Dell saw, each had mannerisms similar to his teammates. A large bot covered in little nozzles sat alone, watching the others. One with a shield around its body stood at attention while a cheetah like bot tried to get it to break form. Nar them, a spike covered bot watched the two intently. A slender bot was at a charging station alongside a hunched bot covered in long quills and a heavily armored robot.

It would definitely be interesting to get to see the inner workings of each bot, as well as knowing how Gray managed to give them all human memories. And, the more he thought about it, the more Dell realized the true scope of the partnership he'd be in. Gray was one of the best engineers in the world. If Dell worked with him, there'd be no limit on what they could create. But first, Dell figured he should evaluate each anti-bot a little closer.

Dell glanced at Jenjie, "Do any of 'em talk like you do?"

Jenjie nodded, "Sort of. But they're not great conversationalists."

"Oh," Dell muttered as he continued to stare at each of the bots to try and figure out what made them tick.

After a few minutes of silence, Jenjie held out a manila folder to Dell, "Read this."

Slowly, Dell took the folder and examined it. Written on the tab in boxy black ink was simply, Jane Doe (Soldier).

"Uh, what's this for?"

Jenjie nodded to the folder, "For your second thoughts."

Dell frowned at the folder for a second before flicking it open. Inside were a variety of papers and photos that Dell assumed were about Soldier. Printed at the top of the first page was SUMMARY in big, bold lettering. He slid the paper out of the folder and started reading.

Just beneath the title were three pictures of Soldier. One was a present day picture, the next was him as a young man, and the final one was of a little boy holding a popgun with a pot over his head. Below that was a list of information including height, weight, age and blood type.

After the summary page, there was a short time line of Soldier's life.

Jenjie leaned over and flipped Dell to a section labeled WWII, "Read that part,"

Dell read though the information listed in the section. The top half of the page contained raw statistics with everything from estimated people killed, to years in combat. Below that was a collection of memoirs that just look like a collection of Soldier's thoughts during the war.

Dell read a few, but didn't really find anything all that surprising. There was nothing in there that Soldier hadn't already bragged about before.

"Uh, what's were you talkin about, for my 'second thoughts'?"

Jenjie groaned and took the folder from Dell, "Here, read this one."

Jenjie gave Dell a folder with a name in characters Dell couldn't really read. Written next to that though, was '(Heavy)'.

Jenjie flipped the folder open "Go ahead and read about how he tortured the prison guards."

Dell reluctantly turned his attention to the fairly long paragraph regarding torture. According to the writing, Heavy had tortured the people who'd guarded him pretty severely. There was a variety of techniques form a crude form of water boarding, to poking the nerves in their feet with needles.

Dell shuddered, "Ah didn't know Heavy did that kinda stuff. He always seemed like a gentle giant to me."

Jenjie nodded, "So you admit there are some things you didn't know about your teammates? Here, have a read of this one."

Jenjie handed Dell a folder labeled Viktor Klaus (Medic). Instead of letting Dell look at the folder, Jenjie flipped it open to a section labeled 'Experiments'. Dell gagged a bit at the sight of the photos in the section. All across the pages were pictures of deformed humans and animals stamped in the bottom corner with FALIURE. Dell took one look at a gruesome picture of a man with a third arm growing from his stomach, and closed the folder.

"Ah don't think Ah can read that."

Jenjie took the folder, "Pretty horrifying stuff, yes? Looks like your doctor's not so much of a saint as his white coat entails."

Dell nodded grimly. Maybe Jenjie was right, and his teammates were just a bunch of crazed killers who were only out for their own interests. Maybe they were all just trying to hide their dark secrets that revealed who they really were. Dell had his own dark secrets, why should his teammates be any different?

Jenjie extended another folder to Dell, "I think you'll be able to find plenty of the information you need in this one."

Dell read the tab. Françoir Dufort (Spy)

"Trust me, that man's practically killed the populations of some small countries," Jenjie said.

Dell's hands shook slightly as he opened the folder. Sure enough, the file was riddled with a wide variety of assassination and espionage undertakings. The first was a listing for a man killed by a single shot to the head. However, the interesting part wasn't the murder, it was the age listed next to it. Nine. Spy had shot and killed someone at age nine. Somehow, that just seemed sick and wrong to Dell. Sure he'd killed people before, but to start so young, was just wrong and had to show some sort of insane psyche.

Dell flicked thought page after page of contracted, planned and successful murders. It was almost overwhelming, how many people Spy'd killed. Everyone from common men to politicians were listed as successful targets.

Soon, he'd had enough, and was just about to close the folder when the edge of a paper poked out from behind the rest. It wouldn't have really mattered too much, except that the paper was clearly marked 'Descendants'. Dell frowned. He didn't think Spy had any descendants. Sure they all joked about his affairs with Scout's mom, but Dell had never thought their relationship to be all that serious.

Curious, Dell took out the page and looked at the first name listed. The mother's name was Marie Dufort. Dell was almost certain that name didn't belong to Scout's mom. Did that mean Spy was married before, or was it just an affair he had once? Dell sighed and pushed the thought from his mind and focused on the information for the kid.

His name was Nicolas Dufort. Born during the summer in a small city in France, he was Spy's first son. Dell smiled a little at the mental image of Spy trying to manage a baby. As he read on, he found himself smiling more. The report of the boy's personality showed a very enthusiastic and amiable child. Then, it just ended. Dell was confused for a moment, then he saw it; deceased, summer of 1941 in a mansion in France. According to the record, he was only 6 years old when he died.

Dell's stomach dropped. Everything fell into place in his mind. Why Spy was so miserable in France, why that door had been locked in the house, why Spy had refused to enter the kitchen in his own home, it all made sense now. It all, made…

As realization hit him, Dell thought he was going to throw up. Dell knew why the kid in his dream had seemed so familiar. Recalling the image of his face, Dell realized the boy had almost the same facial features as Spy might have had when he was younger.

Dell flicked to the front of the folder. Sure enough, there was a picture of a young, and incredibly skinny Spy. Despite the health differences, Spy looked almost exactly like the boy from his dreams, just with a different hair and eye color. Yet, Dell had to be sure he was correct. If so, there was so much he had to ask Nicolas, so much he could learn from him.

Dell returned the paper and handed the folder back to Jenjie.

"Does that clear up your second thoughts?" Jenjie asked.

Dell nodded, "Yeah, Ah think it does. Uh, Ah think Ah'm gonna go take a nap. Ah'm still recovering from the battle yesterday."

Jenjie shrugged, "Suit yourself. I'll be here if you need me."

Dell smiled a little before walking back to his room. He was going to test his theory in the only way he knew how; by sleeping.

Miss. Pauling sat on the floor of her cell, holding the scabbed cut on her arm. Last night still didn't add up. That robot hesitated. She'd worked around Gray's robots for years now, and never before had she seen any one of them hesitate in their missions. Yet, when that robot had gone in to torture her, it had hesitated. After just two strikes, it had stopped, set aside its knife, and walked away. Even though nearly 24 hours had passed, she was still confused by the bot's actions.

_Then again_, she thought, _if there's the one flaw in its system, then maybe it has other flaws I can use to escape_.

She shuffled over to the wall of her cell closest to Bidwell's cell and said as loud as she dared, "Bidwell. Bidwell, wake up."

Bidwell rolled over and groggily opened his eyes, "What?"

"I think I know how we can escape."

Bidwell sat up, "How?"

"Do you remember that robot that was going to torture me last night?"

Bidwell nodded.

"I think its programming's faulty. When it was torturing me, it only hit me twice before it stopped and walked away. If it will ignore orders like that, maybe it will ignore or misinterpret other orders, like the ones to guard us closely."

Bidwell leaned forward so he could place his elbows on his folded knees, "You think we could trick the bot into letting us go?"

Miss. Pauling shook her head, "More of exploit its faulty programming so we can have enough time to get away."

Bidwell nodded slowly, "Ok. And how are we going to do that?"

Miss. Pauling pulled the deadringer from a hidden pocket in her dress, "With this. Spy gave it to me just before we separated. If I'm attacked, it'll shield me from the attack, drop a dummy body, and let me step aside completely invisible. We can get the robot to attack me again so I can fake my death. Then, I'll sneak around it when I'm invisible, and lock it in my cell."

"That could work. Then you'll free Reddy and I, we'll go find Hale and the Administrator, and we'll get out of here."

Miss. Pauling nodded, "And we'll grab the team."

Bidwell raised an eyebrow, "You mean the mercenaries?"

"Yeah, we have to get them too."

"Why? They're just a bunch of hired thugs, we need to save ourselves more than we need to save them."

Miss. Pauling took a deep breath, "We have to go help them. Those guys have done more for me than anyone ever has. I'm not leaving them. If you want to, then be my guest, but I'm going back for them."

Bidwell shrugged, "Alright. So, when do you want to put your plan into effect?"

"As soon as that robot comes back. Once we get him into my cell, we're getting out of here, I promise."

Dell had never been so anxious to fall asleep. He just had to know if his theory was correct. It seemed so impossible, and yet, he had to be right, didn't he? If only he'd fall asleep, he'd know the answer to his questions. If only he could relax and sleep just a little faster, then everything would fall into place.

Dell stopped himself. All that was only true if the boy decided to appear in his dreams again. From what he understood, the last time had just been coincidence. And, the more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed that the boy would simply appear in his dreams. If he only appeared by chance, then there was no hope of Dell ever seeing him again. Furthermore, just wishing for things didn't make them so. Dell knew he had to do something to make it happen, he just didn't know what to do. He sighed to himself. Maybe he should just get some rest, clear his head, and deal with the problem when he woke up.

Before he opened his eyes, Dell took a deep breath of grassy earth. The smell was the same as the time he saw the boy, but he was worried his mind was deceiving him. If he opened his eyes, he could easily find out if it was all real. Then again, it could all be an illusion he'd generated to trick himself into getting what he wanted. Either scenario was equally possible, but there was only one way to find out.

Slowly, Dell opened his eyes. Before him was the same grassy grove shaded by a massive tree from his last dream. There was the same bench, was the same boy sitting there with his white wings folded neatly behind him.

All Dell could do, was stare.

The boy smiled at him, "You called for me?"

Dell rubbed his eyes to make sure what he was seeing was really there, "Uh, yeah, Ah suppose Ah did."

The boy stood and moved to sit next to Dell, "What's on your mind?"

"What's yer name?"

The boy gestured to himself, "My name's Nicolas."

Dell's breathing quickened, "Nicolas what?"

"Nicolas Dufort."

Dell got up and started pacing around. If everything he read in that file was true, then Nicolas was, supposedly, Spy's son. If Nicolas was Spy's son, then Spy would be Nicolas's father. Then, if Spy was Nicolas's father, and Nicolas said his father hadn't died yet, then there was a chance Spy might still be alive. In fact, the whole team might be alive. But how?

Dell expanded his pacing radius. There was only one thing he could think of that would leave the team alive, but still count them as dead; respawn. Then again, he'd never actually put them in respawn, he'd just got the code all set up. But, what if that was all it took?

Dell turned sharply to Nicolas, "Your daddy, he's still alive, right?"

Nicolas nodded, "In a way. He's stuck between life and death in a place called Limbo. Why do you ask?"

"Because, if that's true, then Ah've made a huge mistake."

"What do you mean?"

Dell stopped pacing and stared at the ground, "Ah mean that Ah might be responsible for all that's happened to yer father."

Nicolas looked up at Dell with a neutral expression, "I know. What are you going to do about it?"

Dell suddenly found himself forced out of the dream and sitting upright in bed with a cold sweat covering his body. What was he going to do about it? Well, the only thing he could do about it.

Dell slipped form bed, grabbed the flash drive and key from under his pillow, and started jogging down the hall toward the elevator.


	21. Finishing Move

**This is it, the second to last chapter. I apologize for taking so long to get this out, but once again, school stole all my power to write. On the plus side, the next and final chapter is already written and will come out next week. Also, since this story is almost over, I've begun to consider my next project. However, I've got so many ideas, I don't know which one to do next. On my profile page is a poll regarding which fiction you would like to see me write next. The poll is at the top of the page and the descriptions for each fic are at the bottom. Please take a moment to cast a vote on which you'd like to see, as it will help me decide what's going to happen next. Thank you.**

* * *

Dell tried his best to walk calmly to Gray's office, but his heart wouldn't stop fluttering. He was going to give up everything. All the promise of his partnership with Gray would be void the second he turned on respawn. Once that happened, there'd be no turning back. Everyone would come back to life and they'd have to fight their way out of Gray's base.

For a moment, Dell hesitated. Why was he doing this? Would it really be worth it to abandon the possibility of a future with Gray? There was so much potential in the partnership. Gray had money and technology Dell had only ever dreamed of having.

No. He had to do this. It wasn't about him, it was about his team. Somehow he knew that if he didn't fix the issue with respawn, they'd all be stuck in that Limbo place forever. There was no way Dell was going to keep his teammates from moving on. Especially, he wasn't going to keep Spy from his son.

"Dell, I'm so glad you're finally up and about."

Dell stopped dead and looked down the hall. Standing just before the elevator was Gray Mann, looking at Dell as if he knew he was up to something.

"Yeah. Ah'm feelin a lot better now."

Gray smiled, "Good. Now we can get to work."

Dell backed up a little, "Uh, Ah'll catch up with ya in a minute. Ah forgot my goggles in my room."

Gray started to walk toward Dell, "I'll walk with you. We can discuss our work schedule on the way down."

"That won't be necessary. Ah can just meet up with ya in the workshop."

Dell felt himself back into something. Slowly, he turned around to find the Anti-bots blocking his exit backward.

Gray walked right up next to Dell and put his arm around his shoulder, "Come on Dell, we are partners, after all, we should spend more time together and get to know each other. I mean, you can't form a friendship between strangers, can you?"

Dell slowly shook his head.

"Excellent, now come along, we have work to do."

Dell nodded and took several steps with Gray before bolting for the elevator.

Gray turned sharply and snapped his fingers. Instantly, the Anti-Scout sprang from a side hall and came charging down the hall toward Dell.

Dell waited until the bot was right at his heels before wiping around and punching the robot as hard as he could. The second his hand made contact, Dell realized his mistake. The sharp metal edges of the robot cut into the flesh on his hand and tore it to pieces. Dell grunted in pain, but finished through with the blow. Despite the injury, the move was enough to send the bot sprawling on its side.

Cradling his injured hand, Dell sprinted the rest of the hall and slammed the elevator button. Down the hall, he could hear Gray yelling orders for more of his robots before he stared calling to Dell.

"If you go thought with this, Dell, you'll never have an opportunity like this again."

Dell heard the Anti-Scout scrape to its feet. With fear rising in his throat, Dell kept his attention firmly on the door.

"If you stop right now, you can still have everything. Your team isn't worth all this trouble. Come back to me right now and make the right decision."

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Without hesitation, Dell jumped inside and hit the button for Gray's office.

"You're making a mistake, Dell. Come out of that elevator and I won't have to kill you."

Dell closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As the doors started to close, he looked up at Gray, "The only mistake Ah made was acceptin your offer."

Gray let out a scream of rage just as the doors clicked shut and the elevator started its ascent.

Dell held his good hand to his chest and leaned back against the wall. That was it, there was really no turning back. Now, it was either turn on the respawn, or die without a fight. Dell gave a small chuckle. There was no way he'd go down without a fight.

The elevator stopped and all the lights went out.

Dell's heart leapt into his throat. Gray had cut the power. Dell moved to the control panel and pried it open with his good hand. In complete darkness, he felt around in the mess of wires, trying to find the emergency cable switch. Soon, his hand found the tiny switch he was looking for and flicked it.

The elevator shuddered dangerously before a motor on top of the elevator started pulling the car up the emergency cable.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jenjie went in to check on his prisoners. In the back of his mental processor, he was aware that Dell was escaping to the main control room. However, he decided to ignore it in favor of tending to his prisoners.

When he entered the prison block, the two males were asleep while the female was up and about, glaring at Jenjie as he checked their vital status.

"Hey!" The female called, "Hey tin can, aren't you going to come in here and finish what you started yesterday?"

Jenjie did not look up at her, but responded, "Why do you wish for further torture?"

"Because if I die, I want to die with dignity, not rotting in some cell."

Jenjie looked through the memories given to him for dignity. Yes, the man had known of dignity. In fact, he'd wanted to die with dignity as well. Perhaps it would be best if he gave the woman what she wanted. After all, dignity did seem to be very important to humans, and there was really no point in disgracing them in their last days.

"I shall give you the dignified death you deserve," Jenjie announced.

He grabbed the large knife off the table of torture instruments and entered the woman's cell, "Alright, prepare yourself, madame."

The woman straightened herself up and stared down Jenjie. The robot raised his knife and struck the woman across her chest.

She shrieked and dropped to the floor with her blood staining the concrete.

Jenjie cocked his head at the body. Something didn't seem right. She shouldn't have been so motionless after such a blow. Yes, something was amiss, it was just a matter of what.

Miss. Pauling touched her chest where the knife hit. She knew she should have been torn open and bleeding on the ground like the dummy. Yet, all it felt like was a mild sting as if she'd been slapped. She was definitely alright, just shaken.

After a moment of recovery, Miss. Pauling started to sneak carefully around the robot. Just as she reached the door, the robot whipped around and grabbed at Miss. Pauling's throat.

Acting on impulse, Miss. Pauling dove out of the room and slammed the door. The robot slammed its body against the door.

Miss. Pauling threw all her weight against the door to keep the robot from flying out of it. After a short struggle, she managed to close the door and slam a few random buttons on the control panel beside it. The door lock clicked as it locked.

The robot threw itself against the door again and started to assess its escape routes as Miss. Pauling ran to the main control center for the prison block.

She pressed the button for opening the cells for Bidwell and Reddy.

Instantly, the two assistants sprang out of their false sleep and came out to meet Miss. Pauling.

"Thanks Pauling," Bidwell said, "Now, let's go save our bosses."

* * *

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Dell bolted out and sprinted to the respawn control computer.

He whipped the flash drive from his pocket and jammed it into the consol. Slowly, the computer started to boot up the massive respawn DNA file.

"Come on, come on, come on," he whispered as he tapped his foot impatiently.

As the computer was loading the file, the power went out, causing red emergency lights to weakly illuminate the room.

Dell's heart nearly stopped as the computer froze temporarily only to resume after switching over to its own battery power. Soon, the screen blinks green to show the file is fully loaded.

With his good hand, Dell inserts the respawn key into the main drive.

This time, he doesn't hesitate as he turns the key.

A groan resonates from the respawn unit as it shudders to life.

After a few minutes, Dell runs over and pries open the metal door to the respawn with one hand.

Standing before him are all eight of his teammates. Some of them had dropped their weapons, but all of them are fully equipped with everything they'd had before Gray had wiped their memories.

Dell smiled broadly, "Howdy fellas."

He was met with eight blank stares.

"…Am I still dead," Scout asked.

"What, no. Ah turned on respawn and brought y'all back. We did it fellas, we've got respawn back. Now it's time to finish our mission and kill Gray."

Hesitantly, those who had dropped their weapons retrieved them. Together, they shuffled out of the room and took a look around Gray's office.

Medic glanced over at Dell and saw his broken hand, "Oh, Engineer, let me take care of zhat for you."

Dell sighed as the medigun's beam washed over him to repair his damaged hand, "Thanks doc."

Suddenly, a loud bang resonated from the second door to the room.

Dell was the only one who didn't jump at the sound, "Dammit fellas, I almost forgot. We've still gotta defeat them anti-robots y'all died to while gettin in here."

Soldier grumbled softly, "Dammit."

Scout jumped a little, "What?! Are you kidding me? We gotta fight those super strong black things again? We're all gonna die."

Medic focused the medigun on Heavy, "Ve're not going to die. Ve have respawn, remember."

Heavy nodded, "And this time, we have whole team together."

Sniper took a quick look around the room, "I still don't like our odds. This is a real tiny space to try and fight in."

Demo shrugged, "I'd say it's about as good as all our other odds."

Fractures appeared in the metal door as it threatened to give way at any moment.  
"Here we go," Dell mumbled under his breath.

All at once, the door buckled inward and seven anti-robots barreled into the room. Together, they took attack stances and faced their human enemies.

Gray Mann strode out from behind his robots, "Gentlemen, you cannot win. Surrender now and I will grant you all quick and honorable deaths.

"All robots are lined up with class they mimic," Heavy muttered just loud enough for his team to hear, "Attack robot that is class you were strong against when we fought BLU."

Gray raised an eyebrow, "Excuse me, Mikhail, what was that you said?"

Heavy looked Gray straight in the eye and glared at him, "I said we will not surrender to pathetic baby man and his army of babies."

Gray shrugged, "So be it. Kill them."

All at once, robot and man ran to attack each other. Before the two teams could collide, the Mann Co. team scrambled and went after a different robot.

Heavy turned his minigun on the slender Anti-Scout as Pyro rushed the Anti-Medic with her flamethrower ablaze.

At the same time, Demo launched a volley of grenades at the Anti-Soldier while Sniper trained his scope on the head of the Anti-Demo.

Gray started to look alarmed and backed toward the elevator, "What, no! What are you doing?"

Scout darted in and out of the range of the Anti-Sniper as he tried to get in shots without being burned. Beside him, Soldier distracted the Anti-Heavy with rockets so Spy could sneak around back and find the best way to backstab it.

After a few seconds, Heavy had effectively torn the Anti-Scout to shreds so he could turn his attention to the Anti-Pyro.

Within a matter of minutes, the team of mercenaries had completely destroyed the team of robots.

Heavy laughed heartily at the destruction before him, "Hah, little robots are not so difficult when you know how to fight them."

Engineer nodded, "Yeah, y'all did good. Now, where'd that snake of a man run off to?"

"I believe I saw him run off during zhe fight," Medic said.

Soldier grit his teeth, "That communist coward, he probably realized his foreign robots are no match for us Americans and ran off before we could give him a proper American ass-whooping!"

"Ahy, now let's go after him before that bastard slips away," Demo said as he ran for the elevator.

* * *

"You're sure this is the right room," Miss. Pauling asked as Bidwell typed in the code to a laser grid security door.

"I'm positive this is right," Bidwell said.

The powerful red lasers died as the security code was accepted.

Reddy charged forward with a shotgun he claimed he found lying around. Behind him, Miss. Pauling and Bidwell followed suit.

In the dimly lit room, the Administrator and Saxton Hale are chained up against a sturdy metal wall.

Hale has some sort of metal drum encased over his head while the Administrator appeared to be asleep.

Bidwell and Reddy went to assist Hale as Miss. Pauling ran to the Administrator's side. As quickly as she could, the young assistant freed her boss from the loose restraints.

Helen looked groggily up at her assistant, "Miss. Pauling, is that you?"

Miss. Pauling nodded, "Yes Administrator, it's me. I've come to free you from Gray Mann's base."

"Very good Miss. Pauling. Though I was expecting your arrival to be sooner than this."

Miss. Pauling sighed, "Right, sorry Administrator."

Behind her, Miss. Pauling heard Hale come to.

"Bidwell," he said, "where am I? Where are all the hippies? Just a minute ago I was punching hippies, what happened?"

Bidwell sighed, "You're at Gray's headquarters. The hippies were a hallucination. Now, let's get out of here before something goes wrong."

Hale shot to his feet, "But Bidwell, we have to go punch Gray in the throat for capturing me!"

Bidwell glanced over at Miss. Pauling, "Gray Mann is dead. Helen's mercenaries already took care of them."

"Oh, that's no fun. Well, at least I can go back to my house and punch yetis."

"Certainly Mr. Hale, just as soon as we get out of here, we can-"

"Who said anything about getting out?"

Both bosses and their assistants turned to find the robot, Jenjie, blocking the door to their escape.

Hale ran at the robot, "I don't care who you are. I'm gonna kick your ass!"

Jenjie waited until the last second to step nimbly out of Hale's path. Unable to stop, Hale slammed into the far steel wall at full force. He sat back onto the floor, dazed.

Jenjie shook his head, "What an idiot."

From a sliding panel in his leg, Jenjie drew a long dagger, "Well, at least I'll have fun killing all of you."

With a snarl, Jenjie lunged straight for Miss. Pauling.

Instantly, Reddy swung his shotgun around and fired at Jenjie.

In a spray of bullets, Jenjie's mechanical head was blown off and black shrapnel was sent flying around the room. His body stopped in mid lunge and collapsed to the ground with a few gears clicking and whirring before they died.

Miss. Pauling took a deep breath, "Thanks Reddy."

He nodded in response.

Bidwell picked up Hale's limp hand, "Uh, I don't think he's going anywhere on his own for a while. Pauling, take Helen and get out of here. Reddy and I will take care of Hale."

Miss. Pauling nodded, "Right. I'll see you guys back at base."

Bidwell nodded and Miss. Pauling and Helen ran from the room.

* * *

On the top of the Gray Gravel tower, Mann Co.'s mercenaries confronted Gray Mann.

Dell crossed his arms across his chest and stared down the man he'd almost made his partner, "Alright Gray, we're done playin yer stupid games. No more runnin, just get your ass over here and we promise we'll torture you a little before we chuck ya off the tower."

Gray glared back at the mercenaries, "You're all fools. Killing me won't solve your problems. In fact, it will probably make them worse. Without myself or my brothers around, Helen will find a new, stronger enemy for you to fight just so she can keep control over Mann Co. and all its false sub companies."

Soldier stepped forward and waved his fist at Gray, "It does not matter. You crossed the line when you made me pretend I wasn't American. In fact, on the communism scale, you are Saline!"

"And what exactly does that mean?"

Soldier rushed forward and rocket jumped into the air, "It means I'm going to kick your ass!"

He landed on the ground next to Gray and whipped out his shovel. With the flat end of the shovel, he smacked Gray as hard as he could on the side of the head.

As the rest of the team ran to meet their soldier, Medic called out, "Zhe machine on his back, rip it out."

Soldier shot a quick thumbs up and used his shotgun to shoot Gray in the back.

Gray Mann cried out as Australium exploded from the life extension machine and sprayed out in a mix of red and gold.

Gray hunched into a ball and whimpered as his body aged rapidly, "You idiots, you're making a mistake. This decision will be the end of you, mark my words."

Spy knelt down, grabbed Gray's hair and pulled his face up so the team could see him, "No, monsieur, this decision, is the end of you."

Spy pressed the barrel of his revolver to Gray's temple and fired.

With a final wheezing breath, Gray died and his body began to crumble into dust.


	22. Aftermath

**Well, this is it, the final chapter.** **After nearly a year of writing and work, this is the end... I'd like to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who reviewed, read, asked questions, and commented. You all made finishing this piece possible.**

**Also, since it is the end of the story, I'd like to open my ask box to any sort of questions, clarifications, or anything you want to know about the story or its characters. You can either ask me over PM or you can find the name of my tumblr account on my profile if you want to ask me questions there. Lastly, I'd like to remind everyone to please vote for the next fic you'd like to see me write (if you're interested in that...)**

**Thank you all so much for sticking with this story to its end!**

* * *

The white van pulled up to the gates of the Hydro base. Slowly, everyone filed out and gathered in an indoor common.

The Administrator stood up on the raised control point at the center of the room.

"Gentlemen," she started, "the future is before us. As it stands, I no longer need you to fight Gray Mann. However, I believe a new threat is rising. The threat, of a challenging team of nine mercenaries. They will come and destroy us if you do not stop them. Your next mission is to..."

"Another mission? Do you know what we just went through?" Demo asked.

The Administrator walked to the edge of the ledge and glared down at the Scot, "I'm well aware of what happened to you. However, you still work for me, so you still do as I say."

"Pah, I'm not following your bloody orders anymore. We went through hell for 2 years, saved your sorry ass, and all the thanks we get is more bloody missions? No thank you, I'm leaving."

With that, Demo walked off toward his room.

The Administrator turned and glared at the rest of the team, "Don't just stand there, kill him!"

A silent agreement passed through the group.

"Actually," Sniper said, "I agree with Demo. I'm not going to fight another team after missin two years of my life. I'm with Demo, and I quit."

He slung his rifle onto his shoulder and left for the barracks.

Soldier marched to the door just after Sniper, then turned briefly to the Administrator, "You are a communist if you think I'm going to work for you after being stuck, wasting my life in Canada for two years."

Scout ran after Soldier, "Yeah, I'm out too."

The Administrator stood, dumbfounded, as she watched half her mercenaries walk out on her. Sharply, she returned to the remaining five, "None of you can leave, you need me to continue your pathetic lives."

Spy returned a cigarette he'd been about to light to its case, "Actually, madam, I don't _need_ you or your money."

He slid the case back into his suit jacket and strode calmly from the room.

Heavy and Medic were in a whispering argument in Russian as the Administrator stalked down from the control point.

"Well," she said, "It appears I'll need you all to work extra hard in order to make up for the shortcomings of your teammates. Eventually, I will hire replacement members, but until then-"

"No," Heavy said, "doktor and I will not work for you anymore."

"But," Medic started.

Heavy shot Medic a look, "We can find other places to get whale bladder. This is not good place anymore."

Medic sighed and followed Heavy as he left.

The Administrator took several steps toward them, "Wait, what about your family? Or all the crimes you've committed? You need me to protect you!"

Heavy and Medic continued on as if they hadn't heard her.

The Administrator slowly walked back to Miss. Pauling and the last two mercenaries.

"Anyone else interested in leaving?"

Miss. Pauling took a deep breath, "I am. It's been really great working for you, but, I don't exactly want to work in a failing industry. So, sorry, but I'm leaving too."

The Administrator stalked off with Miss. Pauling, leaving Engineer and Pyro alone on the control point.

* * *

Medic was packing up the usable parts of his old lab with Heavy.

"You know," Medic said, "I'm going to miss experimenting on everyone."

"I know doktor. But we will find new and better place for you to experiment. Until then, you can always experiment on Heavy."

Medic smiled, "Danke Heavy. It shouldn't take me long to find a new lab. Zhough, I might vant to get anozher medical license first."

Heavy chuckles, "Yes, medical license is good for getting job."

From the door, the two heard the familiar throat clear of their spy.

Medic glared at Spy, "Vhat are you doing here?"

Spy's thumb rubbed the handle of a worn black briefcase, "I'd like to speak with you," he glanced at Heavy, "in private."

Medic crossed his arms, "And vhat do you vant to talk about?"

"Please just come with me."

Medic sighed and reluctantly followed Spy out to an old supply closet.

"Vhat is it Spy?"

Spy held out the briefcase to Medic, "I believe this belongs to you."

Medic took the case and ran his hand across the aging leather. It seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place how.

He moved to an empty supply cart in the closet and set the briefcase on the metal surface. Carefully, he worked open the case's stiff latches.

Inside, three unused syringes sat nearly beside a row of six vials with faded labels. On the side of the case was a coil of wire attached to a battery coated in white crust at one end. Strapped in the lid of the case was a pair of well-worn brown notebooks.

Medic slowly took out one notebook and flipped it open. His own handwriting stared back at him with a dull black face.

For a while, Medic just stared at the notebook and case. This was it, his missing work. The project he'd worked on and lost so long ago was back in his hands. It may not have made everything right, but somehow, it took the hatred he'd been holding onto all those years.

Medic looked up to thank Spy, but he'd already left.

With a soft sigh of satisfaction, Medic closed the case and went back to packing.

* * *

After everyone else on base had left, Engineer and Pyro entered the Administrator's office.

The old woman was hunched over a blank desk, staring at the wood. Upon hearing footsteps, her head shot up and her chair turned toward the door.

"Thank god," she breathed, "it's just you two."

Engineer held out a letter of resignation, "Ah'd like to put in resignation for Pyro and Ah."

The Administrator started laughing, "Your resignation? Oh Dell, you and Ms. Avila can't resign. There's no way either of you will _ever_ find work in the real world. You'll both be put in asylums the moment you enter the first city."

Engineer crossed his arms, "And workin here'll be much better? Look around you. Take a good look at the aftermath of this war you've fought. Does this look like a victory? Does this look like somethin still worth fightin over? Hell, is your life even still worth livin anymore?"

The Administrator stopped laughing, "I advise you to watch you next words Mr. Conagher."

Engineer glared at his boss, "Why, because you know what Ah'm sayin is true? Ah'm done dealin with you. You've torn my family apart and enslaved a good couple a generations a Conaghers. You've wasted most a my life by forcin me ta work here. And for what? A little extension of your life?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about..."

"Oh Ah have a pretty good idea of what Ah'm talkin about. Ah may not have liked Gray, but he had a point in sayin nothin would change if Ah came back here," Engineer drew a pistol from his belt, "And Ah've decided Ah'm not gonna let my nephew suffer this fate like me and my daddy and his daddy before him."

Engineer brought the pistol up and aimed it between the Administrator's eyes.

The Administrator's eyes widened, "You wouldn't dare."

"Ah'm done bein told what ta do."

With a practiced twitch, his fingers pulled the trigger.

The bullet entered Helen's brain and quickly ended her life. With nothing left to run it, her body fell back in its chair and became an unceremonious heap on the floor.

Dell kept his eyes forward, letting the bliss of freedom spread through his body.

Soon, Ignacia reached up and grabbed his outstretched arms.

"Home?" She asked.

Dell lowered the gun and smiled at her, "Yeah, pardner, let's go home."

Dell led the way out of the office, up to the main floor, out to the courtyard, and into his old truck he'd left parked at the base long ago.

After a bit of tweaking, he got the truck running. Ignacia got in with him and they drove slowly to the gate.

Just outside the gate, Dell stopped. With a final glance back, he stepped on the gas and let his old life fade into the horizon.


End file.
